


Carry On Snowbaz Rewrites

by heckarikki



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Fantasy, Fluff, LGBT, M/M, SnowBaz, simon and baz - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2018-08-31 22:58:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 40,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8597077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heckarikki/pseuds/heckarikki
Summary: Okay so hey!! I haven't posted in forever but I just finished reading Carry On by Rainbow Rowell (for the second time) and I had this awesome idea! I'm gonna be writing all the chapters in which Simon and Baz interact at all, but I'm gonna write it from the opposite point of view which it was written from (minus chapter 61, since that one goes back and forth so many times). For example, in chapter 53 there's a lot of dialogue between the two, and it's written in Baz's POV. I'm gonna try to write the same scene from Snow's POV. This is just an idea I had, so I'm trying it out. Hope you like it!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter 29  
> Originally from: Baz's POV  
> Written in: Simon's POV

I didn't even realize I was jumping up until I felt Penny pull on my sleeve. I ignored her. It was just like Baz, always so overdramatic, to use Open Sesame instead of just opening the door like a normal person (not that he was a normal person, but still). 

His eyes meet mine for just a second- I know they did, not just because I saw it, but I felt it, too. He always has a way of throwing you off just when you thought you were in control. But just like that, he’s turned around and he’s headed toward the buffet, casual as ever. 

Penny pulls on my sleeve again. I don’t sit down, but I break my gaze from Baz to look around. Dev and Niall have already turned around, unfazed and clearing Baz’s seat as he strolls toward them. 

My face flushes as he gives Agatha a pointed look- not friendly, but Baz never looks friendly, so it’s hard to tell. It finally pulls me back into reality and I slump down, half listening to Penny’s immediate theories bubbling out her mouth at full speed. He probably only left just to piss me off, to make me wonder.

But he looks like shit. 

As I’m staring at Baz, he turns toward me again, just for one second, but he turns away again just as fast. 

Dammit.

Baz.


	2. Carry On Snowbaz Rewrites Pt. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 30  
> Originally from: Baz's POV  
> Written in: Simon's POV

I don’t know why I stood this time.

It’s not like I didn’t know Baz was back. I’d seen him that morning. But watching him walk into class after going such a long time without him there was just another shock.

He looked at me, a bored expression on his face like it was just another day of Watford classes. “Enough, Snow, I’m not the queen.”

I felt my face flush, the eyes of all the students around the classroom on us (our feud wasn’t exactly a secret). I sat down quietly without a replying, not wanting to start a fight here, in front of everyone, especially the Minotaur. I would corner him privately, where I might get answers.

Baz sits in an empty seat, on the other side of the classroom. “Mr. Pitch,” the Minotaur says, as the class settles down. “I see you’ve decided to join us.”

“I have, sir.” You’d expect Baz to be a teacher’s pet, considering his perfect marks, but he talks to them in the same condescending voice he uses on me. 

“We’ll have to discuss your plans to catch up.”

“Of course, sir. Though I think you’ll find I’m still quite ahead of the class; my mother always insisted on summer work in Greek and Latin,” Baz brags. Once again, it’s a reminder that despite his despicable views, he belongs with magic more than I ever have.

I try to look away as the teacher starts the lesson, but it’s harder than ever today. It seems almost unreal that he’s finally here, even though I was the one constantly insisting he was going to come back. Even though I was the one searching for him every night, even though I’d never admit it out loud. Despite all the lessons he’s missed, he’s daydreaming, staring out the window instead of paying attention to class. I can't seem to decide if I'/ more curious or angry, but the pretentious smirk on his face leaves me leaning more toward angry. 

Baz's head turns slightly in my direction, and I see his lip curl. It might have been my imagination, but I doubt it. He turns back toward the window and I look over at Penny. She's glaring at me. That's when I notice that I had slightly lost control of my magic, enough so it was starting to smell like smoke in the classroom. Even the Minotaur looks uncomfortable. Once again, I had given Baz the satisfaction of watching me get flustered. 

I reign in my magic as best I can, trying unsuccessfully to pay attention to the Greek Conjugations that look totally unfamiliar to me. 

Damn him for always staying so calm.


	3. Carry On Snowbaz Rewrites Pt. 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 31  
> Originally from: Simon's POV  
> Written in: Baz's POV

I know it’s useless, but I’m praying he won’t be in the room when I come up to sleep for the night. Honestly, I just want to go to bed, and nothing keeps me up at night like Simon Snow does.

Of course, he’s there when I finally make it up the stairs- they’ve never seemed so long before- but at least he’s in the shower. Now I’m just hoping he’s wearing clothes when he gets out, otherwise I’m not sure if I’ll ever sleep again. I could just go to bed now, while he’s occupied, but he’ll probably try to curse me in my sleep or something, so I put my school bag on the bed and start unpacking.

I swear he takes the longest showers of anyone in the world, which is saying something coming from me. When he finally gets out, in just pajama bottoms and a towel over his neck, the first thing I notice is his cross, or the lack of it. He must’ve taken it off, thinking I wasn’t coming back. He was probably really happy to get rid of it. 

I glare at him. “What are you doing?” I ask, even though it’s pretty obvious.

“Taking a shower,” he snaps. “What’s your problem?”

“You. Always you,” I say, which is true, though not at all for the reasons he thinks it is. 

“Hello, Baz. Welcome back.” 

I look back at my bag because I don’t think I can look at him any longer. “Where’s your necklace?” I ask, keeping my voice detached. 

“My what?” He says stupidly.

I close my eyes, breathing in once. “Your cross,” I snarl.

I’m not looking at him, but I can imagine the dumb, surprised, look on his face. I wait a few moments, unpacking, but I can feel him walking toward me. Literally feel it. His magic has been stronger than ever this year, but maybe I caused that. I usually do. I look up to see him on my side of the room, a few feet away from me. 

I keep my face neutral as he lifts the cross up, in between us, holding it right in front of my face. I want to reach up snatch it away from him. I want to smash it. Instead, I watch as he lifts it up and puts it around his neck, unusually calm. 

I feel my face fall, but I don’t lose my composure. That is, until he asks, “Where have you been?” The worst part is that he almost sounds concerned. 

“None. Of your. Business,” I say, looking him in the eye again and trying to sound as intimidating as possible, which isn’t too hard when it comes to Snow.

I feel his magic rising, and I know he can’t help it, but it irritates me. He yells at everyone else for wasting magic but he can’t even control his own. Ironic. Annoying. “You look like shit, you know,” he says.

“Thank you, Snow. You’re looking rough and weedy yourself,” I say, which is true. He doesn’t look like he’s been eating and sleeping at all, which is stupid because he got to Watford weeks ago. 

Eventually, Snow goes to his desk, presumably to do his homework like maybe it will actually help him grasp how to properly use his magic. It won’t. I lay in my bed, thinking about sleep, but the lights are still on and I realize that I can’t possibly skip feeding tonight. I’m already weak enough. I get up, walking away without saying goodbye to Snow. 

I hardly think he’ll be offended.


	4. Carry On Snowbaz Rewrites Pt. 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 34  
> Originally from: Baz's POV  
> Written in: Simon's POV

I like waking up early. It gives me time to be alone, and it gives me time to think. Today, though, all I can think about it Baz. Baz and his disappearance and his mum and everything in between. I get up, making my way over to my wardrobe, stretching, like I actually need to pick out an outfit today. 

I’m just grabbing my uniform when the sound of Baz getting up startles me, making me jump. He casually swings his legs off of his bed. “Forget that I’m here?” He asks.

Hardly. It’s more like I’m hyperaware.

I watch him walk over to his own wardrobe to get his uniform. I’m wondering what the best way to bring up someone’s dead mom visiting you when they’re away is, but I give up when he glares at me and breezes past me to the bathroom to change.

I walk over to my bed, too restless to sit but not knowing what else to do with myself. I know I look awkward because I feel awkward. I’m lingering when Baz gets out of the bathroom, half dressed and anxious. I shouldn’t stare at him, but the weight of what I know is driving me crazy. It’s not right for me to keep it from him, but every time I go to say it I get stuck. Why couldn’t she have just visited Niall?

“What’s wrong, Snow? Cat got your tongue?”

For a second I think he’s casting a spell on me, and I feel stupid when I realize there was no magic behind his words. I know he saw me flinch because he’s smirking. It’s the closest he ever comes to smiling.

Well, here goes nothing. “Baz, I-”

He interrupts me. “Am a disgrace to magic?”

At this point, it’s his own fault I haven’t told him yet. I try again. “I-”

“Spit it out, Snow. You’d think you were trying to cast a spell. _Are you_? Next time, use your wand, it helps.” He says it quick, with distaste in his voice. Of course he goes for a jab at my magic. He always does. I remind myself that I belong here. Arguably, I belong here more than anyone.

I try not to sigh, or roll my eyes. I don’t wanna scare him off. “Could you just-” I stop mid sentence, stuttering, tripping over my words like always. He looks flustered. I probably ruined his morning, just by existing. But I have to tell him.

“No. I just couldn’t.”

He walks out, slamming the door behind him.

I fall onto the bed behind me, groaning. I can’t wait for this to be over with. I can’t deal with him anymore.

I lay down for a few more minutes before heading to breakfast, not bothering to gather my composure. I still don’t feel like I can tell Penny, but she doesn’t give me the chance anyway, fussing over my tie. I grab it from her, paying more attention to Baz than the knot I'm doing. Agatha is still staring at him. He’s ignoring her. He’s ignoring me, too.

Why wouldn’t he be? 


	5. Carry On Snowbaz Rewrites Pt. 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 38  
> Originally from: Baz's POV  
> Written in: Simon's POV

I just went up to the Mage’s office today to see him. I didn’t have anything specific to tell him, or to ask him, but I’d had a nagging feeling ever since Penny had mentioned his men raiding her house. If I could just get more information out of him, somehow, I was sure there was a reasonable explanation. That’s the way the Mage works. Sometimes, it takes a while to understand his tactics, but they work every time. Almost every time. 

I walk up the stairs, slowly, contemplating what to say. How do I bring up the raids without sounding suspicious? Am I even supposed to know about them?

I haven’t come to a decision by the time the I swing the door open, but it turns out I don’t need to because the Mage isn’t here.

Baz is.

He clearly didn’t expect anyone else to arrive, because he jumped at the sound of the door, sending a book he was reading high into the air to land almost right in front of me. Something flies out of it, but instead of reaching down to pick it up, I focus on summoning my sword. “What are you doing here?” I say, cursing internally for sounding more curious than threatening.

He looks sincere when he says, “Looking for one of my mother’s books.”

I soften, even though I know I shouldn’t. It’s an unfamiliar feeling when it comes to Baz, but I can’t help thinking of the Visiting and how desperate she sounded (I really have to tell him). Unsure what else to say, I remind him that he’s not allowed to be in here.

He holds his hand up, the fire revealing his face. He always calls me an idiot, but he’s clearly the dumbass here since he doesn’t care that he’s flammable. So are all the books around us. But then again, I’m not sure if Baz cares about much at all.

“I’m not hurting anything. I just want a book.”

“Why?” I ask. I know it’s selfish, but part of me feels like maybe he’ll slip something out about his mum, or who knows, maybe even Nicodemus. Then my job would be easier. Then I remember the book, and I figure now that maybe it has some sort of clue in it, so I take a step toward it and reach down for the piece of paper that fell out of it. I can tell Baz wants to go for it, but he knows he won’t beat me to it, so he only makes a half-assed attempt.

It’s a photo. There’s a baby, holding hands with someone, presumably their mum. It only takes me a few seconds to realize it’s Baz in the photo. His mum must’ve put it in the book for safe keeping. I know Baz is only a baby, barely a toddler, in the photo, but he looks happier than I’ve ever seen him look in real life.

And it’s even harder now to detach myself from all this, from Baz’s mum, and his loss, and he's a real bastard but great snakes, it seems impossible what he went through. I can’t believe I pulled my sword on him when all he was doing was looking for a baby photo. Granted, I had a right to do it, based on past events. But still, it feels shitty.

I realize I should probably give the photo to him, so I do. “I’m sorry,” I tell him awkwardly as I hand it to him, but he doesn’t answer me, holding it up to his face. The flame in his hand keeps burning, but he keeps it well away from the photograph. He doesn’t squint, despite the dim light from the door, and in the back of my mind, I wonder if he has improved vision.

Part of me expects him to snap at me for keeping the photo from him, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t even seem to remember I’m there as his eyes search it. He doesn’t even look like Baz. Too many emotions pass his face to pick just one but none of them are good. Maybe he didn’t come here to find the photo. He doesn’t look like he’s ever seen it before. And maybe that should make me wonder why he was actually in here, if that’s true, but it doesn’t.

As usual, Baz’s affairs are taking over my life. But for once, I don’t feel like the victim.

I feel unsure what to do. I really want to leave him alone, but now seems like a better time than ever to tell him what I know. I can’t just yet, though, not while he processes whatever he’s feeling (since apparently he has those). I reach down to pick up the book that the photo fell from. Of course, it’s about fire.

I wait a few more moments until he looks less shaken. Then I hand him the book, saying his name to get his attention.

He takes it from me, his hand far away from mine and an empty look still on his face. Finally, I say, “I need to tell you something.”

“What?” He asks. He doesn’t sound offended or pissed off. He just sounds tired. The air is still charged with emotions, most of them Baz’s.

“I need to talk to you,” I repeat. I feel dumb, frozen in place.

He looks at me indignantly, and all at once, everything feels almost normal again. “Talk, then,” he demanded.

“Not here,” I say, glancing around the office. I'm wary of the fact that the Mage could show up at any moment, and I sure as hell wouldn’t know how to explain this to him. Merlin, I can’t even explain it to myself. “We’re not supposed to be here, and… what I have to tell you is sort of private.”

I cringe at my own words, but Baz seems unfazed. He stares at me with a blank expression on his face, thinking. Probably of ways to get back at me for disrupting him.

Finally, he breaks the silence, casting  **Make a wish** to get rid of the flame in his hand. “Lucky for us, we have our own suite at the top of a turret. Private enough for you?” He asks.

I ignore the sarcasm, but I can’t help my cheeks getting red. I nod. “Just come on,” I say impatiently.

He walks past me,and I follow him out the door. It shuts loudly behind us, and silence overtakes us again. It feels familiar, but it feels heavy.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    


	6. Carry On Snowbaz Rewrites Pt. 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 39  
> Originally from: Simon's POV  
> Written in: Baz's POV

It feels different, to have Simon want me for something. Sure he doesn’t _want_ me , but he’s asking for me and it doesn’t seem like he has bad intentions. He never does. It’s infuriating. But he walks as far away from me as possible as we walk to our room, and I do the same, out of habit. 

The longer we walk, the more stupid this whole thing seems. What could Simon Snow possibly need from  _ me _ ? What could we possibly have to talk about? Has he learned to read my mind, and now he hates me more than ever? Is he gonna chew me out for sneaking around the Mage’s office? I pick up the speed, and he struggles to keep up, which only encourages me more. When we get to the room, I let him walk past me, then slam the door behind us. I place the book- and the photo inside it- on my bed with unnecessary gentleness, then I turn around and face him.

I give him a bored look like I'm indifferent to the situation. “Fine, Snow. We’re alone. Whatever you have to say- say it.”

He crosses his arms, and I realize I’m doing the same. He always makes me so much more self-conscious when he’s around me. He looks upset, which is ironic. I’m really the one who should be having a mental breakdown here, but he’s always been more emotional than I have. At least outwardly.

“All right, just… sit down, okay?” He tells me.

I look at him skeptically. What could possibly be this important? Snow’s always been one for dramatics, even when it comes to magic. “Why should I sit down?”

“Because you’re making me uncomfortable.”

Aren’t I always?

“Good. You should be glad I’m not making you bleed,” I say.

“For Christ’s sake,” he says crossly. He sounds like my Aunt Fiona when he swears like a Normal. He almost never does, though. “Could you just calm down? This is important.”

For the first time, I realize that this might actually be as big of a deal as Snow is making it out to be. Reluctantly, I perch myself at the end of my bed. He gives me one last heated look before turning around and fishing through his backpack. He’s always been messy, papers shoved into his bag without care and peeking out the top of his binders. He pulls out a notebook that reads “Greek” on the front but is clearly void of any actual Greek when he flips it open. He sits down, facing me.

“All right, look. I don’t want to tell you this.” I roll my eyes. “I don’t even know if I should. But it’s your mum, and I don’t think it’s right to keep it from you.”

My head snaps up quickly, and part of me expects him to crack a smile, tell me he was just messing with me, rub it in my face. But I know he’d never do something like that, and sure enough, when we lock eyes he looks completely serious. “What about my mother?” I snap. Simon Snow always thinks he knows more than he does. I reach forward, making a grab for the notebook, but he pulls it away quickly, anticipating the motion. I resist snarling at him, scared he’ll hold back what he knows if I do.

“I’m telling you, okay? Just listen.” He says impatiently. I glare at him, and he swallows, his cheeks redder than ever. If he can’t even get out a proper sentence, how is he gonna tell me what I need to know? “When you were gone- you were gone when the Veil lifted.” He stutters out, and I immediately understand.

My mum visited Simon Snow. Why? If she were alive, she would have been appalled he was even attending Watford at all. “My mother…,” I say, quietly. A tiny little part of me was hoping he’d say no, I’d guessed wrong. But he nods, all the anger draining from his face, replaced by sympathy. I hate sympathy.

“She was looking for you,” he said softly. “She kept coming back. Here. Where were you that she couldn’t find you?”

I ignore his question. Leave it to Snow to be nosy at a time like this. “My mother came through the veil?” I ask again, even though I know the answer. It feels like a lie. I can't imagine it happening, no matter how many times he says it does.

“Yeah," he confirmed, "She said she was called here, to our room, that  _ this _ was your place. And she was pretty hacked off that you weren’t here. Wanted to know whether I’d hurt you.”

“She talked to you?” I asked, feeling even number than before. She didn’t just visit him, she spoke to him. Simon Snow had a conversation with my mother while I was in a fucking Numpty coffin.

“Yeah. I mean-  _ yes _ .” I don’t call him out on being so flustered. For once, it’s just a sidenote. I don’t care about Simon Snow. I only care about my mum, and he talked to her and I  _ didn’t _ , and for once I really, really hate him . My mouth starts to feel dry. “She came looking for you and scared the living shit out of me, asking if I’d hurt you. And then she said that the Veil was closing…” He strays off, studying his notebook like it’s confusing homework and not possibly the most important thing that’s happened in the past ten years of my life.

I snatch the notebook from him, and this time he doesn’t see it coming. I squint at the pages, but it’s all scrawl as if he wrote it with his left hand and the lights off. I recognize my own name, and something about a rose, but that’s all I can make out. I throw it back at him, half hoping it knocks him out and I never have to look at his face again, and half hoping he’ll just throw it away and come to my bed, and… I don’t know. I never know. But I feel alone.

“You write like an animal,” I said, sneering. “What did she say?”

“She said that…” He trails off again, and I feel my face starting to heat up. Before I can snap at him again, he says, “That her killer walks. That you should find Nicodemus and bring her peace.”

I only half register this information. I heard what he said, but it doesn’t make sense. “Bring her peace?”

He doesn’t clarify.

“But she  _ killed  _ the vampires,” I tell him. I know she did. I watched her.

“I know.”

I contemplate for a second. I feel like someone has grabbed my stomach and twisted it in half.  “Does she mean the Humdrum?”

Snow shrugs, his actions casual but his face ashen. “I don’t know.”

My head hurts now, and I feel like I might cry but I can’t. Not here, not right now. I need more information. I need less information.

“Tell me again,” I say.

He looks back at that damned notebook, and I wonder why he can’t just remember. I want to rip the stupid notebook in half. I still want to cry. “Her killer walks, but Nicodemus knows. Find Nicodemus and bring her peace.”

That name doesn’t even sound slightly familiar, and now I’m starting to feel frustrated along with everything else. “Who’s Nicodemus?” I snap, even though I can tell from his face he doesn’t know.

“She didn’t say,” he says. Cautious, but not timid. He should be. I’m starting to feel things I never have before. I’m starting to feel things I hope no one in the world will ever feel again, especially not Simon Snow.

“What else?” I demand. I know something must be missing. My mother didn’t come back to leave me a riddle. She came back to tell me something specific.

“Well… she kissed me.” His hand subconsciously reaches up to stroke his forehead. “She told me it was for you, to give it to you.”

For a second, I think he’s gonna come over here, and kiss me, even just on my forehead. But you couldn’t pay Snow a million dollars. Besides, it doesn’t matter right now. None of it matters. “Then what?” I ask.

“Then she left,” he says, and I feel every bit of hope drain out of me at once. I feel angry, not at Snow in particular, but he’s the only one here and I want more information out of him, even if he can’t give it to me. “She came back one more time, that same night, the last night before the Veil fell, and she was different, sadder, like she was crying. And I couldn’t see her that time, but she said, ‘ _ My son, my rosebud boy.’ _ She said that a few times, I think. And then she called me by my name and said she never would have left you. And then:  _ ‘He said we were stars’ _ .”

I didn’t recognize the nickname, but it still makes me choke up. I move onto the more pressing matter. I’ll think about that when I’m alone. “Who said? Nicodemus?”

“I guess, I don’t know.”

I can’t help being spiteful toward Simon right now. If it had been me here when my mum visited, it would have been different. I would know what to do right now. This secondhand information wasn’t good enough. “Who.  _ The Fuck _ . Is Nicodemus.” I spit each syllable at him, even though I know it won’t help.

“I don’t know, I thought  _ you’d  _ know.”

I jump off my bed, restless. I wish I had a punching bag. I wish I could disappear. I wish I knew who the fuck Nicodemus was. “My mother came back. She came back to see me. And you talked to her instead. Unbelievable.” My voice was practically shaking. It wasn’t fair, in any way.

“Well, where  _ were _ you?” Snow says. Like he has any right. “Why couldn’t she find you?”

“I was indisposed! It’s none of your business!” I yell.

“Well, I hope your secret trip was worth it!” He raises his voice back at me. “Because your mother came for you! She came and she came and she came- and you were off planning your hopeless rebellion!”

Simon Snow is the most arrogant person I’ve ever met.

I look at him, and he truly thinks he’s right. He thinks I spent all those weeks off somewhere, in a deep dark dungeon, planning the demise of him and the rest of the magickal world. It feels lower than dirt. He thinks he can talk about me, about my mother, like he has any clue. I come at him quickly, without thinking. I don’t want to kill him, I don’t even want to hurt him, but I’m going to. I don’t care about my own feelings, I don’t care about the Anathema. I just care about my mother.

He catches my hands as soon as they’re in reach, and a small part of me is grateful because I know he’s right, and the feel of his warm hands against my skin partially calms me down. But I can’t let him get away with this- with any of this. With the visiting from my mother, and talking about it like it’s a burden to him, and implying it’s all my fault. Talking about me and my family, my dead mother, like we're all trash. The more I think about it, the more I want to do something about it, and the more I don’t care about the consequences. I push against his hands, but he's strong, and I'm scared if I push any harder I might accidently let too much go. 

“Baz,” he says, surprisingly calm. I hate his stupid voice right now. “You don’t want to hurt me. Do you.” He doesn’t even make it a question. I try one more time to break free, to show him he’s wrong. “You don’t want to  _ hurt _ me,” he reiterates, squeezing my wrists gently. “Isn’t that right? I’m sorry. Look at me,  _ I’m sorry _ .”

I do look at him, and damn those stupid puppy dog eyes, and damn his soothing, reasonable words. He’s so naive. He thinks he can fix everything by saying sorry.

And he’s right.

I step back, and he lets me yank my arms away from his grip. I place them tightly next to my body. We both avoid eye contact. I wonder if the Anathema will kick in. I hope it does. I would just go and find whoever the fuck Nicodemus is, kill him, and forget about Simon and the Mage and-

There’s a knock on the door.

“Simon?”

I recognize that voice. It belongs to Penelope Bunce, Simon’s annoying sidekick. Actually, it’s probably the other way around. She shouldn’t be able to get up here. Girls weren’t allowed in the boy’s rooms. I give Simon a knowing look, and he purposely ignores it.

He probably thinks I’m gonna go right to the Mage with this new information. I could, if I wanted to. But as much as it sucks having to see Simon every day, it would suck more to not see him every day. Besides, I seriously have more important issues right now. It will be interesting to hold over his head later, though.

Simon breezes past me, almost bumping my shoulder but not quite, and all the tension in the air snaps. “Penny,” he says as he opens the door, his back to me, “What’re you-?”

He doesn’t get an answer. She rushes into the room, clearly not seeing me and choking out Simon’s name. Then they’re hugging, and she’s crying, and all of a sudden I’m overwhelmed.

Good, Simon has done his job. He’s told me what he needed to tell me, and now he can keep living with his own problems, being all-powerful and the Mage’s heir and whatever else he and Penelope worry about. And I can go back to my own problems, and everything will be the same except now I know what Simon’s hands feel like around my wrists.

Simon looks at me, clearly expecting me to immediately snitch on him. Instead, I shake my head. “I’ll leave you alone,” I say, slipping out the door. I guess I’ll go to the Catacombs. I guess I’ll go wallow. I guess I’ll go contemplate my hopeless queer crush and missing my visiting and being a goddamn vampire.

Then tomorrow, I’ll avenge my mom’s death. 


	7. Carry On Snowbaz Rewrites Pt. 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 40  
> Originally from: Baz's POV  
> Written in: Simon's POV

I’m still awake when Baz gets back to our room, and I’ve done a lot of thinking. It wasn’t right for me to yell at him about the situation. I think about how I would feel in his shoes, and for the first time possibly ever, I feel a little bit of sympathy for him. I never knew my mom at all, not even when I was a baby. But if she had come back for me, and I wasn't here to witness it... 

I know Baz’s pride will get in the way and he won’t tell Dev or Niall, or anyone else for that matter. He’s gonna try to figure this out all by himself. And it seems to me that this is something no one, not even Baz, should go through alone.

I watch him silently as he opens the door slowly, clearly checking to see if I'm asleep. When he's satisfied that I am, he crawls right into bed, without a shower or a snide remark. He sniffles, and I wonder if he has a cold. I  always thought vampires couldn’t get sick since he never has been before, but maybe that’s just another myth. Plus, spending so many nights in the Catacombs can’t exactly be healthy.

It takes every ounce of courage in me because I know he’ll probably tell me to fuck off when I speak what’s on my mind, but I clear my throat. “I’ll help you,” I offer.

I think fir a second I was too quiet for him to hear, but he responds. “Help me what?"

“I’ll help you find whatever killed your mother,” I explain.

He must be surprised because there’s a moment of silence before he says, “Why?”

I roll over to face him, hoping to search his face for any type of reaction since his voice is bland and detached. But it’s too dark to make anything out. I don't even know if he's facing me. I shrug out of habit, even though he can't see me. “Because they attacked Watford,” I lie.

He doesn’t say anything, clearly not very impressed with my answer, and I hope he doesn’t hear me taking a deep breath. I decide to tell him the truth, even if he makes fun of me. Even if he doesn’t understand why I care. I don’t understand it myself.

“Because she was your mother. And they killed her in front of you. And that’s- that’s wrong.”

He doesn’t make fun of my stutter. He doesn’t sneer or put my suggestion down. In fact, he doesn’t say anything. It’s a silent agreement. 


	8. Carry On Snowbaz Rewrites Pt. 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 42  
> Originally from: Simon's POV  
> Written in: Baz's POVq

For once, I wake up before Snow.

To be fair, I didn’t really sleep that much. Which is normally fine, since I don’t need as much sleep as those around me, but recently I’ve felt like I’m drowning in exhaustion. I push through it because that’s what I do. I shower, slick back my hair, and put on my uniform. I have to look in the mirror to put on my tie. It’s a little embarrassing, but I guess compared to some other secrets it’s not too bad.

That’s what I’m doing when Simon wakes up. He doesn’t say anything, but I can pick up on the tiny noises, like changes in breathing patterns or shifting the blanket off himself. It’s reassuring, especially now that we’re almost on the same page.  _ Almost _ .

We never will be. Not completely. There’s always something at stake, there’s always something in between. But for now, this is a good excuse to be around him without having to keep my wall of hate up quite so high.

I immediately feel regret for even thinking it. I shouldn’t be using my mum’s death as a way to try to win the heart of someone who doesn’t even like my gender, let alone me. She would be disappointed, I know it. But through all the pain of the new information, I can’t let this opportunity skip by me.

He doesn’t know that I know he’s up, so it startles him when I say, “You’re not getting off.”

I’m facing him now, and he shoots up, his back rigid. I should have known he didn’t really mean what he said. “What?” He asks, playing dumb. He just made that promise so he could keep up his perfect little protagonist act. Everything in my life is unfair.

I look at him sharply. “You’re not going to pretend that last night was a dream or that you didn’t mean what you said. You’re helping me avenge my mother’s death.”

He looks skeptical, but not like he’s about to reject the idea completely, with is promising. And adorable. Suddenly I think maybe working with him on this is a bad idea. It’s a distraction, and it’s not like he's suddenly gonna fall in love with me or something. But it’s too late now, and I could use the help. He'd probably recruit Bunce too, and she's the smartest person in our class, minus me. “Nobody said anything about  _ avenging _ . I said that I’d help you figure out who murdered her.” He stands up while he talks and unsuccessfully tries to fix his hair with his fingers. I like his curls best in the mornings.

“That’s helping me, Snow,” I point out. “Because as soon as I know, I’m killing them.”

He shakes his head at me as if he wouldn’t do the same. I know for a fact he would. “Well, I’m not helping with that part.”

“You already are,” I counter.

“What?”

I look at him, completely serious. I may have a few ulterior motives, but the fact is I have to focus on finding my mum’s killer and not focus on Snow’s killer blue eyes. If I’m gonna be weak, and let my personal feelings for him become involved, then Simon damn well be helping me solve this mystery. “Starting now. We’re starting this now. It’s our first priority.”

I try to leave, to not let him respond, but he always has to try to get the last word (he almost never does). “What-?” I turn around, a scowl on my face, and he flinches but keeps talking. “What about everything else?”

Merlin, he can be infuriating. “What about everything else? Lessons? We can still go to lessons.”

“No,” he says. He has disdain written all over his face, and I know this is stupid. He loathes me. But he said he’d help, and he’s going to. “You  _ know _ what everything else. You want me to work on this with you, but… you also want to push me down the stairs.”

_ It was an accident! It could’ve easily been the other way around! _ I want to scream it.

But I don’t.

Instead, I say, “Fine. I promise not to push you down the stairs until we solve this.”

He rolls his eyes. He does that too often, I think. “I’m serious. I can’t help you if you’re setting me up all the time.”

The more he tries to get out of his promise, the more I want him to keep it. “Do you think this is a set up? That I brought my mother back from the dead to fuck with you?” I spit it at him.

He immediately looks guilty. “No,” he says softly.

I sigh. “Truce,” I suggest.

“Truce?”

He’s unbearable. “I’m fairly certain you know what ‘truce’ means, Snow. No aggression until we’re through with this.”

“No aggression?” Sometimes it’s hard to believe that English is Simon’s first language.

I roll my eyes. I’m probably picking it up from him. “No  _ acts _ of aggression,” I correct him.

He grabs his wand as if he isn’t intimidating enough. I’ve seen him go off without it anywhere near him. When he comes back to me, he’s already smelling a little bit like smoke. Just from thinking about magic. Unbelievable.

“Swear it,” he insists. “With magic.”

I’m hurt, just a little. I can’t help it. I mean, I’ve fought with Simon and yelled at him, and even (technically) tried to kill him. But I’ve never lied to him. To be fair, I’ve never told the whole truth, either. But my mum is involved here, and it’s a little irritating that he thinks I’d lie about something like this, of all things. “Fine,” I agree reluctantly. “But I’m not letting you near me with that.” I gesture to his wand with my chin, and he places it back down without argument.

I grab my own wand, and then his hand with my own. His hands are warmer than mine, but I’m used to it. Everyone’s are. He tries to pull away. I don’t let it go, squeezing it instead. Because that’s how truces work. I lock eyes with him before reiterating. “Truce.”

“Truce,” he echoes. “Until we know the truth.”

I almost make a bad joke about rhyming, but that’s really more of a Snow thing to do, and it’s probably not the right atmosphere for that anyway. I nod silently, before confirming our truce with a spell.

He doesn’t flinch at my magic, which is surprising because that’s the normal reaction. In fact, he leaves his hand in mine, looking at it. I look at them too. Mine is much paler than his, but they look right together. Of course, I’m a little biased. “We can talk about this after lessons. Back here,” I say, bringing us back to the point.

I loosen my grip, reluctant to fully let go. He does it for me, yanking back with unnecessary force.

“Fine.”

Then he leaves, and I sit on my bed.

I think I’ll skip breakfast today.

*******

I spend the day preparing for our research. (Outside of lessons, that is. I can’t afford to skip if I want to beat out Bunce for the top spot in our class). I only stay for half of lunch, and I don’t go to football practice. I’m not officially back on the team yet, anyway. Which is fine. I don’t have time for that right now.

Snow bursts in just when I’m starting to think he’s not coming. He really is the only person in the world who can ever catch me off guard. Except the fucking numpties, apparently. His eyes skip past me and toward the chalkboard I’m wheeling around the floor. “Where did that come from?” He asks.

I want to tell him we really have more important issues to worry about than a stolen chalkboard, but I remind myself to be patient. “A classroom,” I answer truthfully.

He asks me how I got it to the room. Simon seems to forget magic exists sometimes, despite being surrounded by it for the last eight years. Maybe it’s because he comes from a normal family.

“It flew,” I say.

“No, seriously,” he says as if weirder things haven’t happened at Watford.

“I  **Up, up, and away** -ed it,” I explain. “It wasn’t much work.”

“Why?”

I try not to huff, or sigh, or groan, or snarl. “Because we’re solving a mystery, Snow.” His jaw tightens a little every time I call him that. It just encourages me more. “I like to organize my thoughts.”

“Is that how you normally plot my downfall?” He asks. I’m not sure if he’s being sarcastic.

“Yes,” I snap. “With multicoloured pieces of chalk. Stop complaining.” Just to shut him up, I grab my bookbag. I happened to sneak some food out after lunch, being good friends with Cook Pritchard. Snow’s always been insanely jealous of that fact since he’s basically a black hole when it comes to food. Which is irrationally both disgusting and attractive at the same time. I figure he’ll be most productive when he’s fed. “Eat,” I say, throwing him the food while magickally producing a pot of tea.

He looks at the food like he thinks I poisoned it. He probably does. “What’s all this?” He asks.

I shove the pot at him carelessly. “Tea, obviously. I know you can’t function unless you’re stuffing yourself.”

I see him relax as he unwraps the roll I brought him and takes a bite out of it. Satisfied with its safety, and possibly my decent intentions, he mumbles a thank you.

“Don’t thank me. It sounds wrong.”

He rolls his eyes (again). “Not as wrong as you bringing me bacon butties.”

To be fair, everything about this is wrong. I turn toward the chalkboard instead of continuing to watch him eat. “Fine, you’re welcome.When’s Bunce getting here?” I ask.

“Why would she?” He asks, and he sounds genuine.

It’s hard not to let the shock seep into my voice. “Because you do everything together, don’t you? When you said you’d help, I was counting on you bringing your smarter half.”

“Penelope doesn’t know anything about this.” His words sound deadly serious. I think that he only ever speaks to me like that, which should be a bad thing, but I choose to take it as a compliment.

“She doesn’t know about the visiting?” I ask, just to clarify. I’ve been doing a lot of that lately.

“No,” he says.

“Why not?” I ask, thinking maybe there’s a secret reason I somehow missed. “I thought you told her everything.”

“It’s just…” he trails off, lost for words as always. “Seemed like your business.”

“It  _ is _ my business.” It comes out more fierce than I mean it to.

“Right,” he says like he’s talking to a crazy person. Maybe he is. “So I didn’t tell her. Now, where do we start?”

I shrug, another thing I probably picked up from my roommate. “I was counting on Bunce to tell us where to start,” I say, which is just an excuse because I’ve been panicking so much about this thing I don’t think I’ve had a rational thought in my head since he told me about it.

He looks thoughtful. “Let’s start with what we know.”

It seems like a good enough idea, so I agree and start to write on the chalkboard. I print the word, " _ Nicodemus" _ , because it seems like the most obvious thing at the moment. I’m growing restless. I feel like I can’t keep still, my arms and legs shaking against each other. It’s not a feeling I’m used to.

“That’s what we don’t know,” Simon points out when he reads what I wrote. “Unless you’ve come up with something.”

I shake my head, already feeling discouraged. “No, I’ve never heard of him,” I repeat, confirming nothing had changed in the less than 24 hours since we had last spoken. “I did a cursory check in the library during lunch- but I’m not likely to find anything in  _ A Child’s Garden of Verses _ .” That’s the Mage’s fault, for taking away all the traditional, magickal books. He wants us to “stay in touch” with the language. I think in reality he wants to keep all the magick for himself. But I don’t complain about the Mage to Simon because I know it will turn into a big fight and we’ll never get anything done.

And honestly, I don’t have the strength to fight with him today, physically or emotionally. I wouldn’t mind if he just finished me off right about now, but I have to find who killed my mum.

I turn my attention back to the chalkboard. Things I know. Well, I know how and when my mom died. I don’t want to write about how, so I simply write:

_ 12 August 2002 _

Simon doesn’t need to ask the significance of that date. The air feels heavy around us.

“You were only five,” he says softly. “Do you remember anything?”

I only spare him a quick glance. He’s so bloody concerned and I can't decide if I’m repulsed or endeared. Probably both. He has a way of doing that to me. Once again, I answer as honest as I can. Not just for Simon, but for myself.

“Some.”


	9. Carry On Snowbaz Rewrites Pt. 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 44  
> Originally from: Simon's POV  
> Written in: Baz's POV

I go through the story of my mum’s death in my head and reluctantly write down vague details. I feel completely exposed with Simon watching me write about my tragic backstory. After 18 years, right now it feels more real than ever.

_ Vampires _

_ On a Mission from the Humdrum _

_ One fatality _

“Well,” Simon says cautiously, and I already know from the tone of his voice he’s going to say something that will tick me off, “Not just one fatality. There were also the vampires, weren’t there? Did your mother kill them all? How many?”

I don’t write down his little addition on the chalkboard. “It’s impossible to say,” I tell him, facing him for only a moment before turning back to my writing. “There were no remains. There  _ are _ no remains, in that sort of death- just ashes.”

That’s what it will look like when Snow finally rids the world of me.

The contemplative look on his face looks out of place. It’s more of a Bunce type look. Simon is always the one who prefers rushing into things without thinking. Stupid. And brave. “So the Humdrum sends vampires to Watford-"

“The first breach in school history,” I add.

“And the last.”

“Well, it’s got a lot harder, hasn’t it? That’s one thing we can give your Mage-” I purposely emphasize the word  _ your _ \- “This school’s as tight as a drum. He’d hide Watford behind the Veil if he could.”

“Have there been  _ any _ vampire attacks since then?” He asks.

I know what he’s thinking. He thinks just because I was turned, because I’m one of them, that I’m automatically a vampire expert. As if I got handed a manual with all the tips and know-how when they bit me at age three and killed my mum. He looks at me like I’m the king of vampires. But I just shrug.

“I don’t think vampires normally attack magicians,” I say, based on personal experience and common sense. Then on a second thought, I add, “My father says they’re like bears.”

“How?” He asks, his tone still careful like I’m gonna whip out my fangs and bite him at any second.

“Well, they hunt where it’s easier for them, among the Normals.” Unless you’re me, then it’s among the Catacombs. “And they don’t attack magicians, unless they’re starving or rabid. It’s too much fuss.”

He gives me a look I can’t read, almost sad but still annoyed. “What else does your father tell you about vampires?”

I straighten my back, giving him my best “don’t say what I think you’re gonna say” look. It’s not the time to get into this right now. “The subject rarely comes up,” I say, my voice icy.

Snow doesn’t back down. “Well, I’m just saying it would help in this specific situation if we  _ knew _ how vampires worked.”

The funny thing is, I genuinely don’t know how vampires work.

“Pretty sure they drink blood and turn into bats, Snow,” I say. I wouldn’t be surprised if he believed that last part.

“I meant culturally, all right?”

I scoff. “Right, you’re a fiend for culture.”

He looks more disappointed than angry. I’ve seen that look on my father a thousand times (though I know he tries to hide it). “Do you want my help or not?” He asks.

I don’t answer. Instead, I turn back to the whiteboard. Just to rile him up, I write:

_ Vampires: Food for thought _

“Can vampires really turn into bats?” Simon asks with his mouth full.

“Why don’t you ask one?” I snap, my voice daring him to bring it up again. He doesn’t. “Moving on: What else do we know?”

“I looked up the coverage of the attack,” Snow tells me, getting up and rummaging through the mess of papers on his desk before pulling out  _ The Record _ . The most obvious place to look. I feel stupid for not thinking of it myself.

He stands while he finds the right page, then shows me the open cover. It reads:

 

**Vampires In The Nursery**

**_Natasha Grimm-Pitch dies defending Watford from dark creatures._ **

**_Are any of our children safe?_ **

It’s completely foreign to me and it brings a rush of emotions to my face that I sure as hell don’t want Simon to see. I grab the book from him, not with malice but with complete confusion. “I’ve never seen this,” I explain.

I read the story out loud, not for Simon’s sake but for my own. It explains how one of the vampires had bitten her, and that’s when she killed not just them, but herself with fire.

Nobody had told me any of this.

I look at Simon, who seems both sympathetic and uncomfortable. “I didn’t know that. I didn’t know she’d been bitten.” I don’t know why I'm telling him this. I feel oddly detached from him after finding out this new information, like his presence in the room is suddenly a secondhand fact.

“What’s  **Tiger, tiger** -” He stops himself before he finishes the spell.

I don’t want to explain because the more I think about this the more I have to come to terms with what it means. “It’s an immolating spell,” I say anyway. “It was popular with assassins… and spurned lovers.”

“So she killed herself?” Snow asks. I keep my eyes focused on the article, still refusing to let him see any emotion. “Intentionally?”

I close my eyes, mostly to keep myself from crying but also to let Snow’s words sink in because they’re true, they’re so true. She would rather have been dead than be a vampire. Rather be dead than  be like me. I was her son, her pride and joy, but not like this. If she knew, if she’d survived to see…

Simon bumps my shoulder with his hand, so quickly it couldn’t have been intentional. Normally I would snap at him, tell him to keep his paws off of me. Today, I let it go.

I don’t even notice him taking the book from me, but his voice starts reading the article aloud from where I left off. His voice is shaky as he reads about how I was “unharmed” in the attack. But that’s a lie. I died that day too.

Next, it says that dark creatures are appearing more and more often and that there was pressure to close Watford completely. These are details I already knew, and I take the time that he's reading to try to gather my composure. At least while he’s here.

When he’s done, he adds to what he just read. “There are more articles about that. About what to do with Warford. I’ve read a few month’s worth. Lots of meetings and debates and editorials. Until the Mage took over in February.”

I can’t tell if he’s gloating about the success of his amazing Mage, the biggest savior, or if he’s just stating a fact. I don’t care today. The second part of the article is lost on me. I’m still thinking about my mother, about what really happened. How the truth slipped past me all these years. I’m willing myself not to tear up.

Simon senses my emotions, and he places his hand softly on my shoulder, telling me it’s okay. This time it’s definitely not an accident, and he keeps it there, squeezing gently. After everything I’ve done to Simon, all the injuries and insults I’ve thrown at him, he’s by my side comforting me.

But I can’t let him get close to me right now. I can’t let him see me like this, so he can pretend he cares until his Mage tells him why he ought to stay away from me and he runs off again. I laugh at him, though this is the least amusing moment I can remember in a long, long time. “That might be the one thing it  _ isn’t, _ ” I tell him. “Okay.”

“No,” he says, his hand tightening on my shoulder. “I mean, it’s okay that you’re not okay. Whatever you’re feeling is okay.”

Except that my mum is dead and she’d be disappointed in what I’ve become. But sometimes Simon can be too damn naive to understand. He still views the world like the sun will come out tomorrow.

But the sun isn’t comforting when you’re a vampire.

I stand up abruptly, and Simon’s hand falls from my shoulder. I don’t want him to touch me, or to pity me. I don’t need comfort. I need revenge. And right now, Simon Snow is standing in my way.

“Is that what you’re friends tell you every time you blow up another chunk of school grounds?” I say. I know where I learned to be this vicious (from Fionna. And my dad.) I’ve learned that this is how you get what you want. This is how you stay on top and get things done. “Because they’re lying to you. It isn’t okay. And it won’t be. So far, it’s only ever been a sign of more bad things to come.  _ You _ won’t be okay, will you, Snow?”

His face is shattered, and all the progress I’ve made is shattered, just like that. It’s probably better that way. “This isn’t about me,” he says.

I laugh again, dryly. “I wouldn’t think so, but I’ve been wrong before. It’s always about you around here.”

He doesn’t say anything back. His eyes lock on mine, and he walks out the door, dropping the book on the desk as he goes.

It stays open on the page about my mum.

*******

I don’t leave my room for a long time. I eat some of the leftover food I had brought up with me, using  **_Some like it hot_ ** to reheat it. I’m upset that I blew it with Simon. I’m upset that I have to figure it all out on my own. I’m upset that I don’t have a mom to comfort me about it. I have a dad, but Simon Snow just comforted me more than he ever has, for great snakes. And if my mum were here, would she want to help me? A vampire? I know Snow has to be the Chosen One and all that, but right now it feels like I’ve really got the bigger burden.

I only slink out of my room for one lesson. Luckily I don’t have it with Simon. I don’t get a lot of time by myself to wallow these days, and it seems like the perfect opportunity. I’m sure Dev and Niall will appreciate a whole day without listening to me complain about Simon Snow.

I try to work on the chalkboard, but it's harder to think of interesting things when you don't have someone to banter with or to debate your ideas. My head feels empty. 

So, that’s where I am, staring at the chalkboard and throwing myself a pity party, when all of a sudden I'm totally compelled to walk outside. I can feel the pull, and I instantly recognize it as magickal. Not just any magick- Simon’s magick. I’ve felt similar spells used on me before, and I figure it must be  **_Your attention, please!_ ** Or  **_All eyes on me_ ** . The teachers use them sometimes when the class gets too rowdy.

I want to ignore it, but magick is magick. I walk all the way out of my building and across the grounds until I reach the courtyard. I hear a roar above me, and I look up to see Simon Snow on top of a dragon, hitting it repeatedly with his sword. I realize it’s not a roar coming from the dragon, but more of an aggressive whine. Simon is hurting it.

I try not to feel angry at him. Dragons are dangerous. Even Normals know that, and they think they’re a myth. Most people would handle this situation in exactly the same way. But it’s hard to be objective with Simon right now. Or ever, for that matter.

I shout hard at him, but he can’t hear me, being on top of a dragon and whatnot. I’m aware that I’m not the only one who was affected by Simon’s spell. The whole school is watching him, and watching me yell at him, despite Bunce’s efforts to spell them away. An idea comes to me. I cast  **hear ye, hear ye** , and this time when I scream at him not to hurt the dragon, Simon looks down at me.

Like the idiot he is, he ignores me. He continues to pump his blade into the dragon’s scales. Resisting Simon’s fury is futile. I can’t fight him and neither can that dragon. But I can do my best to reason with him.

I shout even louder now, and I know my voice reaches him because the movement of his blade slows down. “Simon!” I surprise myself- I didn’t mean to use his first name. I usually only do that in my head. But now’s not the time for sentimentality, and I’m sure he didn’t notice anyway. “Wait! They’re not dark creatures!”

I spell myself over the wall after a large leap to the off of a building. It’s a floating spell, not very well known, but I’ve picked it up from having to bridge the same gap after dark a few times when I needed to hunt and the rats just weren’t enough. I can see the shocked look on Simon’s face from where I stand, and his sword movement slightly slows down.

The dragon notices me as well, stooping closer to me. Despite defending her, this is still terrifying to me, especially because of the small amounts of fire coming from its snout.

Simon notices too, and he shouts, “Baz! No! You’re flammable!”

I’m not sure why he cares. It would be easier on him anyway if the dragon did just set me on fire. “So is everything!” I shout back at him.

“ _ Baz _ !” He shouts again. His voice is an odd mixture of desperation, worry, and frustration.

I know what spell to use. I read about a similar situation once, but I’m not sure if it was a story or if it really happened. I’m not even sure if I’m strong enough for it to work, anyway. But I have to try.

I begin to cast the poem  **_Ladybird, Ladybird_ ** by Mother Goose. Nursery rhymes are extremely strong, and suddenly I understand why. I remember all the words, despite not having heard the poem most likely since I was a toddler. They come flowing out of me, and I don’t stop. But instead of flying away from me, it flies a little closer. Not exactly the desired effect, but at least I have its attention, and Snow has stopped trying to decapitate it.

After a couple verses, Simon drops to the ground completely and stands behind me, in a weird, protective manner. It feels refreshing for a moment, but the weight of the spell I’m using is crushing all the air out of my lungs. I manage not to stumble over my verses-  **_All except one, and her name is Aileen_ ** \- but my voice is growing shakier and my wand is unsteady and the dragon is getting less and less interested. She seemed conflicted, almost, about whether to go.

**_Ladybird, ladybird, fly away home, your house is on fire and your children shall burn._ **

Right after I say this for the fifth time, I feel it. A surge of energy- no, a surge of magic. And it’s not my magic. It’s Simon’s.

The next verse I say flies out of my mouth, almost involuntarily. It's stronger than my first, stronger than all my verses combined. Even stronger than anything I’ve ever said before. It still doesn’t feel like my magic, but somehow it’s coming out of me. I feel the weight of Simon’s hand on my shoulder, and I think it must be coming from him, but rationally I know that makes no sense. It feels like it’s being forced through me, all the way out of my wand.

**_Ladybird, ladybird fly away home!_ **

Finally, the dragon listens, flying away slowly like it still hasn’t totally made up her mind. The magic no longer feels like it’s pulsing through me, but I can still sense its presence. I only slightly register the applause from all the students watching, and my voice is still carrying from the earlier spell when I shout, “ **_As you were!_ ** ” The magic is still Simon's, but this time, he didn't give it to me. I just took it.

It takes everything I have to turn around and face Simon. I’m hyper aware of how fast my shoulder returns to its normal coldness in the absence of his touch. I look at him in complete shock, trying not to let the awe show on my face. This touching moment of sharing magick, while completely illogical, doesn’t suddenly make everything right between us. But it was sure as hell  _ something. _

“Why did you help me?” He asks. He’s so young sometimes. Wasn’t it the other way around? I would have collapsed under the weight of the spell if it weren’t for him.

I just mumble, “Truce,” because I assume this means the truce is still on. “Anyway, I wasn’t helping you. I was helping the dragon. You would have killed her.”

“It was attacking the school.”

“Not because she wanted to. Dragons don’t attack unless they’re being threatened. And dragons don’t even live in this part of England.”

All of a sudden Bunce is running toward us, eager as ever to bring up the completely impossible, totally ridiculous thing that just happened between Simon and I. She grabs Simon forcefully and begs him to try it on her. I know it won’t work. I don’t know why, or how I know, but whatever happened between us wasn’t just coincidental. Our magick somehow worked together.

Simon stops Penny, saying, “I was just giving him moral support.” We both know it’s not true, and so does Penny, but when Miss Possibelf comes around to congratulate me, neither of us mentions it to her. I almost tell her she should be thanking Simon, not me since it was really him who supplied the magick. But I don’t, because I’ve been acting the same way for 8 years and one truce isn’ gonna magickally change that. No pun intended. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! So I'm still doing this but I can't promise updated anytime soon. Maybe over Christmas vacation. My teacher upped my homework to two outlines a week and my season starts next week so I promise I'm still doing it but they will probably be few and far between for a while!


	10. Carry On Snowbaz Rewrites Pt. 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 45  
> Originally from: Simon's POV  
> Written in: Baz's POV

Now that I knew Penny could be in our room despite the gender restrictions, she has no problem following Simon and me upstairs to nag us both about what she had just witnessed, and I don’t just mean the dragon. Since she was here, and she’d already seen the chalkboard, we decide we can use her help, so we fill her in. She seems almost as distressed as I was when I first heard the story of my mother’s visiting.

She points an accusing finger at me while she yells at Simon. “You told  _ him _ ? But you didn’t tell  _ me _ ?” I’m not sure how he can stand being around this nonsense all the time.

“It was  _ his _ mum,” Simon says exactly what I was thinking.

“Yeah, but he wasn’t even here,” Penny whines.

“I was going to tell you, Penny,” Simon says, trying to reason with her. “But then he came back, and everything got complicated.”

“We’re telling you now,” I point out. Mostly I just feel left out of the conversation. It was hard not to with Simon and Penny, they were always so invested in one another. I remind myself she has a boyfriend, anyway.

“We? Since when are you two a we?” She says spitefully. She can’t just let me have my one moment, apparently.

“We’re not a we!” Simon says, uncharacteristically raising his voice at her.

“You people are impossible,” I jeer, more at Simon than Penelope.

“And since  _ when _ are you a power outlet that other magicians can just plug into?” Penelope asks. I’m also interested in the answer to this question. I’m surprised he hasn’t already run off and told the Mage about it.

“I don’t know, I’ve never tried it before.”

I feel stupidly special, then I just feel stupid.

“Try it again now,” Penny insists for the 100th time. And once again, he tells her he doesn’t want to hurt her. But this time she says, “Simon, imagine what we could do with your power and my spells. We could finish the Humdrum off by dinner- and then take on hunger and world peace.” I find this vaguely insulting. My spells are just as good as Penny’s. According to the class rank, as it currently stands, mine are actually better.

Instead of expressing these feelings, which is a foreign concept, I just do what I know best. I taunt him. “Imagine what the Mage will do when he realizes he has a nuclear power generator in his backyard,” I say.

I watch Simon’s adams apple (it’s un-proportionally big) as he swallows. He suddenly looks nervous, an exciting change. Normally he’d be jumping at the idea of impressing the Mage.

Penny speaks gently to Simon now, probably trying to make up for my cruel words. Honestly, they’re just too sensitive. “Was it a special spell?” She asks.

He shakes his head in frustration. “No, I just… pushed.”

This is probably the most interesting thing he’s said so far. It almost makes sense. At first, it did feel like he was pushing his magic into me. Then, it just felt like it was there, and I was taking it. 

“Show me,” Bunce insists again. I sit up a little, watching the two of them stare at each other while they try to figure this out. “I trust you.”

“That doesn’t mean I won’t hurt you,” Simon says. He just discovered he has a freaking superpower, even compared to everyone else in the magickal universe, but he won’t use it because he’s scared he might hurt someone. That’s so like him. Too nice for his own good. He’s the goddamn sun.

“Pain is temporary,” Penny says.

“That doesn’t mean I won’t damage you,” he answers.

She seems frustrated with his lack of cooperation. He usually just goes along with whatever she says. She’s surprisingly intimidating. “Come one. We have to figure out how this works,” she says.

Simon shakes his head, still unconvinced. “We never  _ have _ to. You just always  _ want _ to.”

She doesn’t deny it. She just says his name, with such an intensity you’d think she was dying.

They’re already holding hands, so I don’t know that it’s actually happening until Penny jumps up, pulling her hand away from Simon’s and yelling, “Great Snakes! Fuck a nine-toed  _ troll _ , Simon. Stevie Nicks and Gracie Slick!  _ Fuck _ !”

I can already see the guilt written all over Snow’s face. I’m not sure why- I mean, he did tell her that it was bad idea. “Sorry! Penny, I’m sorry, let me see!” He says.

I can’t help laughing. I’m not laughing at her pain, necessarily, but let them think I am if they want. Honestly, this whole situation is hilarious. Simon and I have a special link he doesn’t share with other mages? I mean, c’mon. The irony is pretty thick there.

“I’m so sorry,” Simon says softly to Penny, ignoring me completely. “Should we go to the nurse?”

My eyes are watering and so are Bunce’s, but for different reasons. She shakes her head. “I don’t think so. I think it’s passing.”

Now that I’ve gathered my composure, I hop off the bed to take a look at Penny’s hand to see the results of their little experiment for myself. I see her whole hand is shaking, and a little red, but no third-degree burns or any other wounds. “Did it feel like I cast a spell on you?” Simon asks.

“No,” I answer, at the same time as Penny. We exchange a glance, but we both quickly look back at Simon.

“It was more like a shock,” Penelope elaborates. “What about for you?” She asks, and they both look at me expectantly.

I shrug. I had felt amazing- powerful- but I didn’t want to say that. “I don’t know,” I say noncommittally. “I was focusing on the dragon.”

“Did it hurt?” Penny presses me.

I give her a sharp look. I don’t feel like discussing this anymore. We  _ should _ be discussing my mom. “Maybe you didn’t see what you think you saw. Maybe Snow really  _ was _ just giving me moral support,” I say.

“Right,” she answers sarcastically. “And maybe you’re the most gifted mage in five generations.”

“Maybe I  _ am _ ,” I snap back, even though we both know that’s Simon. Then I take out my wand, casting  **_Get well soon_ ** on her hand. It stops shaking.

“How did  _ that _ feel?” Simon asks her.

“Better- Hot,” She says.

I grin at her, raising my eyebrows suggestively, even though I know what she really means. I hear it every time I cast a spell on someone. “I meant temperature-wise,” she says matter-of-factly. “Your magic feels like a grease-burn, Basil.”

Simon looks curious when Penny says that, but I ignore his gaze. “Runs in the family,” I explain.

Penny follows me as I make my way back to the chalk board. “So… You got a Visiting. An actual Visiting- Natasha Grimm-Pitch was  _ here _ .”

I can’t help but grin at the awe in her voice. My mum _was_ kind of a legend. “You sound impressed, Bunce,” I say, leaving any appreciation out of my voice.

“I am. Your mother was a hero,” she says enthusiastically. I turn back toward her. “She developed a spell for gnomeatic fever. And she was the youngest headmaster in Watford history.” Now it’s me who’s in awe. I never would have believed Penny idolized my mum, whose views were much more conservative than her own. But she seems enthralled by all her achievements. “ _ And _ ,” she continues, “she defended your father in three duels before he accepted her proposal.”

“That sounds barbaric,” Snow says rudely. It’s easy to forget that he wasn’t raised in the Magickal world and doesn’t appreciate the same things the rest of us do.

“It was traditional,” I explain calmly.

“It was brilliant,” Penny corrects me. “I’ve read the minutes.”

I found this very interesting. Even I hadn’t read them. “Where?” I ask.

“We have them in our library at home. My dad loves marriage rites,” she tells me, leaning forward now in her fervor. “Any sort of family magic, actually. He and my mother are bound together in five dimensions.”

I give her a small smile outwardly now. In class, Penny’s know it all attitude is annoying, but these are subjects I don’t mind discussing. Plus, it’s less irritating now that it’s not a competition. “That’s lovely,” I say, and I mean it. I can’t imagine that kind of bond with someone.

She smiles too, and she looks a little insane. “I’m going to make time stop when I propose to Micah,” she says.

I’m impressed with the idea, and I wish I’d thought of it first. Not that I’m ever going to get married. “That little American? With the thick glasses?” I can’t hide the distaste in my voice- it’s habit.

“Not so little anymore,” she says, her eyes twinkling. I can’t believe I’m having this conversation with Bunce right now. It’s absolutely insane. But I’m kind of into it.

“Interesting. My mother hung the moon.” My dad had told me this once when he was tired. He’s never spoken of it again.

“She was a legend,” Penny says, quoting my thoughts from earlier.

Simon interjects again, clearly baffled by the fact that Bunce and I were, well, bonding. “I thought your parents hated the Pitches,” he said to Penelope.

I glare at him. He can insult me all he wants, but he has no right to rope my entire family together as if we’re one vicious entity and not living, breathing people (and vampires).

“That’s politics. We’re talking about  _ magic _ ,” Penny says, as if he should have known.

I can see the frustration on his face, and I do feel bad for him. He can’t separate the two because they’ve always been intertwined in his life. His entire being is a magickal bomb and a political one at the same time. “Obviously, what was I thinking,” he says dryly.

“Obviously you weren’t,” I say back.

What can I say? It’s habit.

“What’s happening right now?” He asks, tugging his hair desperately like he does when he gets irritated. “What are we even doing?”

I don’t say anything because I’m not entirely sure at this point, but luckily Penny steps in and speaks for me. “We are finding out who killed Natasha Grimm-Pitch,” she says, determination in her voice.

I can’t let my guard down around these two, I know that. Their life goal is to stop villains, and according to them, I am one. But my voice is soft when I say, “The legend.”

She smiles at me, not wide like before, but a small, intimate smile. “So she can rest in peace.”


	11. Carry On Snowbaz Rewrites Pt. 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 46
> 
> Originally from: Baz's POV  
> Written in: Simon's POV

I convince Baz to go downstairs and get dinner since he’s always bragging about his in with Cook Pritchard. And I’ve definitely seen him eating things that weren’t on the menu before (no vampire pun intended).

Well, I might have an ulterior motive. “Penny, we need to talk,” I say as soon as Baz disappears. I hope he can’t hear me, you know, vampire ears and all. “This is crazy. Since when are you and Baz best friends? It’s like watching Tom and Jerry sit down to a civil tea time together.”

“No,” she says, one hand picking up a piece of chalk and one hand wagging a finger at me. “You two are Tom and Jerry. I’m just trying to solve a mystery. Now, let’s see. How can we find out more about Nicodemus?”

She starts to write on the board again, but I interrupt her. “Penny, this conversation isn’t over. I’m not sure why I even agreed to this in the first place. It’s completely weird to see-”

“It’s not weird,” she says, turning around now and crossing her arms. “It’s human. Not everything is black and white, Simon. Not friendship, not magic, not family. It’s all just floating in the gray areas in between. We’re helping Baz because it’s his mum, and because his mum was fantastic, all politics aside. Now, c’mon, I need to take as much time as I can on this chalkboard while Baz is gone. He’s a complete chalk hog. How can we find out more about Nicodemus?”

With that, the discussion really is over, and she finishes writing  _ Nicodemus _ on the board. I’m still confused, and a little jealous if I’m totally honest. I never would have expected Penny to ignore me for someone else, but Baz of all people? Everything feels off. But she’s right. It’s not always just one thing or another, and right now Baz isn’t just my enemy. He’s another person, who lost his mum. And I know what it’s like to not have one.

By the time Baz comes back, we have a perfect rhythm going. She writes an idea, we debate it, and then she writes yes or no beside it. So far we have the library, Penny’s mum, the Mage, and google. He enters the room with a seriously large plate of food. I have to admit I’m impressed. My mouth is already watering at the sight of it.

“Simon’s right about the vampires,” Penny says, ignoring the dinner plate in Baz’s hand as he inspects the new additions to the chalkboard.

“What?” He asks, his eyes darting away from the notes to lock with hers. Personally, my mind is more interested in other things. I stand up and walk toward the tray grabbing the gallon of milk (seriously, a whole gallon!). Before I can drink it, Baz kicks me sharply in the leg.

“Anathema!” I shout at him, just in case I was right and this was all a setup and he’s about to attack me with everything he has.

“I’m not trying to hurt you,” he says, and I’m both relieved and appalled at the same time. “I’m trying to protect you from your own disgusting manners. The room won’t blame me this time, you oaf. There are glasses right here.”

I set down the milk and he sets down the tray. I help myself to a glass and a sandwich. I’m glad he remembered how much I love sandwiches, though I’m surprised he’d bother with anything he can’t use against me in the future. “Cook Pritchard just  _ gave _ you all this?” I ask, reaching for a stack of brownies. Once, I asked her for an extra scone, and she told me not to be greedy.

“She likes me,” Baz says.

“I thought she liked  _ me _ ,” I complain. “I saved her from a kitchen sink!”

He smirks at me. “Yeah, well she likes me for who I am.”

Penny lets out a loud huff. “ _ Vampires _ ! Are you even listening?”

“Put a sandwich in it, Bunce,” Baz says, and I would have laughed if Penny didn’t look so mad.

“How can we guess who sent the vampires or what the vampires even wanted if we don’t know anything about vampires?” She asked, exasperated.

“Vampires want blood,” I say. Baz’s face stays expressionless, like this part of the conversation doesn’t involve him.

Penny finally moves toward the food while she talks. I guess being that smart actually does get exhausting. She points out that vampires can get food basically anywhere they want without being caught.”I can’t think of a more difficult place for a vampire to get blood than Watford, in the middle of the day. So why even try?” She asks.

Finally, Baz joins in on the conversation, but he remains as detached as before. It’s  _ his _ mum, it would make sense for him to use his personal knowledge to help solve this. I don’t understand why he’s being so stubborn. “Well, the term hadn’t started yet, so no one was on guard.”

Penelope shakes her head, for once at a loss of a logical explanation. “Yeah, but it’s  _ Watford. _ Even back then, there was a wall of wards against dark creatures.”

“It doesn’t have to make sense. The Humdrum sent the vampires. Just like that dragon today.  _ It _ didn’t want to be here either.” I’m still not quite sure I believe Baz about that, but it kinda makes sense. It hadn’t seemed like it was actually on a mission to hurt anybody.

That look comes over Penny’s face that she gets right after she realizes something important. “But if Headmistress Grimm-Pitch was talking about the Humdrum, why would she throw that on Baz’s shoulders- does she expect him to kill the Humdrum? And what about this Nicodemus?”

I think I understand what she’s getting at. “We should stop thinking of this as an isolated attack,” I say, and she nods eagerly.

Baz looks less excited. “It’s the only vampire attack in the history of the school,” he points out.

I remember something the Mage told me once, about how back then the dark creatures thought that the school was getting weak and they were plotting to make a serious move on our realm, so I explain it to Penelope and Baz.

“When did he say that?” Penny says. This is obviously new information to her.

“It’s in  _ The Record _ . The Mage gave a speech to the Coven- even before the Watford invasion.” I reach for the book I had been reading earlier. I flip through, looking for a page I had found before Baz had even come back to school. It has the Mage’s speech and a list of all the attacks by dark creatures.

Penny grabs the book from me and gives me her sandwich. I eat it while she flips through the pages, and finally, she stops to look back at me and Baz. “There’s nothing about the Humdrum.” She flips to a specific page, probably the one with the article about Baz’s mum. “No Humdrum here either,” she reports. She even tries  **_Fine tooth comb_ ** , but still no Humdrum.

“That doesn’t make sense,” Baz says, and he sounds discouraged. I feel bad, like maybe I should say something to lighten up the situation, but I’d probably just make it worse. “The Humdrum existed near then,” he explained,”The first dead spot appeared in the late ‘90s. Near Stonehenge. We’ve studied in Magickal History.”

I roll my eyes, because of course he assumed we don’t remember, but I don’t call him out on it. Penny speaks up instead. “I know. My mother was pregnant with me when it happened. She and dad visited the site. I wonder how they knew…” She grabs her sandwich back from me, and I let out a weak protest, but she and Baz both ignore me. They hold eye contact with each other, both with contemplative looks on their faces. I feel slightly useless.

“Who? What?” Baz asks, apparently as confused as I am.

Penny shakes her head, looking back and forth from the book to the white board. “I wonder how they figured out that it was the Humdrum behind everything. Behind the dark creature attacks and the dead spots? How they know it was him before they knew how he felt?” She pauses, looking back at me with that gleam returning to her eyes. “That’s how we identify him now. That  _ feeling _ .”

I don’t look at Baz when I speak to him. Despite everything, I feel a little uncomfortable talking to him without being scornful. “Did you feel the Humdrum? That day in the nursery?”

“I was a bit distracted,” he snaps.

Penny looks at him in wonder. “What did they tell you?”

“What did who tell me?” He asks. Unlike me, he’s brave enough to look at who he’s speaking to.

“Your family. After your mother died.”

“They didn’t tell me anything,” he says. I see him cross his arms out of the corner of my eyes. “What was there to say?”

“Did they tell you it was vampires?” She asks.

“They didn’t have to tell me. I was there,” he points out.

I will Penny to stop asking him questions, but she’s never quite grasped the idea of privacy. “Do you remember? Did you see the vampires?”

He looks at her, his face steeled over and unemotional. “Yes.”

I don’t want to ask; despite the cold look on his face, I know that he’s not okay with this. But it’s an investigation, personal feelings aside. “Baz, when  _ did _ you first hear that it was the Humdrum who sent the vampires?”

He doesn’t answer right away. It must have been a pretty traumatic conversation to have with your family, so I don’t push him. Penny and I wait silently, and I finally look at him straight on when he says, “I learned it in school. Same as you.”

At first, I think he’s joking, but Baz never jokes around, and his expression makes it clear he’s completely serious. I almost want to hug him- I’m sure his dad never did- but instead I say, “What happened to the other vampires? Not the ones your mother killed- the others.”

He shrugs nonchalantly, as if he was talking about some other bloke and not discussing his own personal tragedy. “The Mage drove most of them out of England. I think it’s the only time my family has co-operated with his raids.”

“Mum says the war started with the vampire raids,” Penny butts in.

“Which war?” I ask, still apprehensive about being left behind in the conversation.

She quirks her eyebrow at me before leaning over to grab some food. “All of them.”

Baz reaches out at the same time Penny does and snags a sandwich. I realize now that I haven’t seen him eat since he’s brought up dinner, but instead of unwrapping the food, he stands up with it and starts walking toward the door. “I need some air,” he says simply, his tone as unfeeling as ever.

With that, he vanishes out the door.


	12. Carry On Snowbaz Rewrites Pt. 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 48  
> Originally from: Baz's POV  
> Written in: Simon's POV

I’m trying to get to sleep when Baz comes back in the room.

It’s not that I’m worried about his safety or anything, but I’m not exactly scared of him right now either. Maybe it’s just curiosity. But after Penny left, and I finally took a shower and climbed into bed, I couldn’t fall asleep despite my heavy eyes. Normally I can just shut my brain off at night, but right now it’s racing miles a minute. Which is saying something, because overall this isn’t the most dramatic thing that’s ever happened to me. But it feels like it is.  _ Baz _ feels like the most dramatic thing that’s ever happened to me.

I don’t get up when he enters the room, just pretending I’m asleep. I don’t know what he’d say to me if he knew I was awake, and I’m not sure what I’d say to him either. I can’t decide if I’m insulted when he spells the board clean, hours of work erased in a minute. At least Penny’s memory is practically photogenic.

Baz goes into the bathroom but he doesn’t shower. I imagine what I’d say to him right now if I had the guts. The sink runs for a few seconds, then turns off. Silence overtakes the room.

I know if I don’t figure this out, I won’t fall asleep tonight, or possibly ever again. And who knows when we’ll get the chance to be alone again? Penny is always lingering one way or another. I need some closure after what happened, or as much as I can possibly get tonight.

I sit up just as the bathroom door opens again. Baz is in pajamas, which is fitting, considering the bags under his eyes. (He still looks fantastic and well put together, though, which is ultimately frustrating). They’re his own personal choice. He never seems to want to spend more time in school-issued clothing than necessary. I guess they’re not posh enough for him.

He looks at me when he steps out, his eyes steady and his expression blank. “Baz?” I say.

That seems to snap him back to reality because he heads toward his bed and sits down. “What.” He states, not even as a question.

“I…” I have no idea how to word it without sounding creepy. “Can you come here?”

“No,” he replies quickly, without even thinking about it.

I groan internally. “I can come over there, then,” I say, trying to imitate his demeanor by not giving him a choice in the matter.

His body language is defensive, and he says, “You may not.”

I try not to roll my eyes, but I can’t help letting out an annoyed huff. Why doesn’t he care about what happened? About what it could mean? About everything? “Just. Come here. Okay? I have to try something.”

He still looks skeptical. “Can you ever hear how ridiculous you sound?” He asks.

I can hear, but I don’t care. Too much has changed in these past few days to care. I walk toward his bed, slowly, unsure whether the Anathema would stop him from lashing out at me. But he simply says, “You can’t sit on my bed.” I ignore him, sitting quietly a few feet away from him. He sniffs indignantly at me. “Neither can Bunce,” he says, “My bed reeks of intensity and brownies.”

I let my lip curl up in a small smile, because it’s a pretty accurate description of Penny, before my thoughts fall serious again and I reach my hand out toward him. “Here,” I say, hoping that he’ll understand without an explanation.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t, giving me a look like I’m a crazy man. Maybe I am. “What do you  _ want _ from me, Snow?” He says, his voice full of disgust.

I’m not sure what I want, so I say, “Nothing.” Then on second thought, I explain why I was offering to shake hands like we were meeting for the first time. “We have to try again.”

His expression is wary. “Why?”

“So we know it wasn’t a fluke,” I explain.

“It  _ was  _ a fluke. You were fighting a dragon, and I was helping you- it was a fluke squared,” he insists, but I can hear the uncertainty in his voice, and I know he wants to try it just as much as I do.

I take my hand back, running it through my curls and pulling them slightly in frustration. “Merlin, Baz,” I say, “Don’t you want to know?”

He smirks. “Whether I can tap into you like a generator?”

“It wasn’t like that. I let you do it.” We both know that.

“Are you going to let me do it again?” He asks, his voice heavy with implications I didn’t even want to consider.

“No,” I say sternly.

He turns his head away. “Then it doesn’t matter if it was a fluke!”

“All right,” I say, my resolve cracking. “Maybe.”

He turns slightly back toward me, but he’s looking at my hands, not my face. “Maybe what?”

If he’s curious at all, he’s not showing it, so I have to force myself to keep talking. “Maybe I’d do it again. If it were a situation like today- if there were lives at risk, and this might be a solution, an option other than, you know,  _ going off _ .”

He doesn’t react to my words whatsoever. I hate how he can do that, when I’m such an open book all the time. “What if I turned it against you?” He asks.

I hadn’t even thought of that. “My magic?” I clarify.

“Yes. What if I took your magic, cast it against you, and settled Baz versus Simon, once and for all.”

I know it’s stupid, but after the past few days I was a little surprised that he still thinks of us as “Baz versus Simon”. Maybe even kind of insulted. I mean, it’s not like our issues all of a sudden just went away, but I thought maybe I was seeing, I don’t know, a different side of him or something. I guess it goes to show some people are evil all the way to their core. “Why are you such a villain?” I say, unable to hide the disapproval in my voice. “Why have you  _ already _ thought of that?”

“I thought of it when I was still rhyming at the dragon,” he says as if it was obvious. “Didn’t you?”

“ _ No _ ,” I said, letting it come out more passionately than I meant to. 

“That’s why I’m going to beat you.”

“We’re on a truce,” I remind him.

“I can still  _ think _ antagonistically,” he says, talking to me as though I’m a toddler who might have trouble understanding his big, fancy words. I hate that. “I’m thinking violent thoughts at you constantly.”

I grab his hand suddenly, catching him off guard, and squeeze so he can’t pull back. I’m surprised when he doesn’t even try. His hands are cold, but it’s okay because mine are always warm, so it feels refreshing. Not that I would ever tell him that. “I’m going to try now,” I say softly, feeling much more self-conscious now that we were touching. I hope he doesn’t notice how sweaty my palms are getting, despite the low temperature of his own. I don’t know why I’m nervous all of a sudden. We’ve already made it this far.

“Fine,” he says, but his voice is weaker now than it was before.

I’m not sure what to do now, so I ask, “Should you be casting a spell?”

His eyes are avoiding mine, and he’s back to his usual snippy self. “I don’t know. This is your experiment.”

I think for a moment, and then I decide. “Don’t then. Not right away. But tell me if it hurts.” I’m not sure why it’s even a concern of mine. It wasn’t earlier, when we were spelling away the dragon. Then he was just Baz- but right now he’s holding my hand, and he’s looking away, and I don’t want to hurt him.

“It didn’t hurt before,” he says quietly.

I’m relieved. “It didn’t?”

He’s looking in my direction, but never at me. He glances down at our hands, then back up, and he says, “No.”

“What  _ did _ it feel like?”

Just when you think you get past Baz’s cold exterior, it’s back. Maybe it’s not just an exterior, and he's cold all the way through. But it's hard to believe anyone could be like that. “Stop talking about feelings. Hit me,” he says impatiently. “Or charge me. Whatever it is you want to do.”

I don’t want to do either of those things, for once, but I don’t tell him that. I let my eyes fall shut and I focus on my power, transferring it to him. I try my best to do what I did earlier- to open.

I feel it at the same time he does, and I know it because he tenses up suddenly. “Okay?” I ask, still scared it might hurt this time around.

“Fine,” he says, reassuring me. “What’re are you doing?”

“I don’t know. Opening? I guess?” It sounds lamer when I say it out loud. We sit in silence, and I study Baz while he studies my hand, his thoughts clearly somewhere far away. “Still okay?” I ask him, gently snapping him back into reality.

“Grand,” he says, and his voice sounds different now. Almost happy? Talk about mood swings.

“What does that mean?” I ask. “Does that mean you could use it?”

He laughs in a way I think I’ve genuinely never heard before, not even when he’s around his friends. “Snow,” he says, finally looking at me. “I think I could cast a sonnet right now.”

His hand is still wrapped tightly in mine, and I feel more relaxed knowing he’s just as vulnerable as I am. “Show me,” I say.

There’s a pause for a moment. He must be deciding what spell to cast. His eyes droop closed for a second, and I watch his face uncharacteristically light up when they open again. “ **_Twinkle, twinkle little star!_ ** ”

By the time he gets halfway through the poem he stops, trailing off as we gaze around us. We’re not inside anymore. I don’t know if I’m scared or just in awe. Maybe both. I grab his other hand without thinking about it, and he doesn’t resist me. He lets his fingers slip between mine, intertwining our hands, but he doesn’t seem to notice, glancing around us in wonder. My heart is pounding. “Merlin and Morgana. Are we in space?”

His smile is goofy, and he simply responds, “I don’t know.”

“Is that a spell?”

“I don’t know.”

If somebody had told me yesterday that I would be sitting in bed, floating through a hypothetical space continuum while holding hands with Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch, I would have laughed. And if they had told me I’d be enjoying it, I probably would have slapped them. But here I am.

Baz brings me back to reality, a lopsided grin still on his face. I decide I like it much better than his seemingly permanent sneer, but again, it’s one of those things I’ll probably always keep to myself. I can’t imagine he’d take it as nicely as I mean it. He asks me if I’m holding back at all.

“Not consciously,” I answer, absentmindedly drawing our hands closer to me, holding them near my chest. “Is it too much?”

“No,” he says, shaking his head earnestly. “It’s like you completed the circuit. I feel kind of drunk, though.”

“Drunk on power?” I ask, thinking about his earlier interpretation of our newfound talent.

He just gives an easy laugh, though, not letting go of my hands. “Shit, Snow.” He says it like a nickname, not the way he normally says it, like I’m not good enough for a first name. “Stop talking. This is embarrassing.”

“Do you want me to pull back?” I ask. As much as I’m enjoying myself, I still feel really nervous and I can’t quite pinpoint why. It’s not such a bad feeling, but it’s making me anxious.

“No,” Baz replies. “I want to look at the stars.”

I shake my head. “I’m pulling back.”

As soon as I think about closing myself off again, the stars disappear and suddenly we’re sitting on Baz’s bed, holding hands. I let them fall in between us. I don’t want to let go yet. I feel surreal.

“All right?” He asks, his hands squeezing mine a little. I don't think he meant to do it.

“Yeah,” I answer. “You?”

“Fine,” he says quickly. He no longer looks giddy. Now he looks just as nervous as I feel. Maybe it’s just leftover intoxication from what we just did. What can you really say about something like that?

Suddenly, all these thoughts about stars remind me of something his mother said. I still feel way too exposed, but not in an awkward way, so I bring it up without hesitation. “Your mother… When she came back, she said that thing about stars. _'_ _ He said we’d be stars.’ _ ”

He clears his throat a little. He’s staring at my cross. I wonder if it legitimately bothers him, even hurts him. I would take it off, but I’m hyper aware of where my hands, and Baz’s, are right now. If he’s not going to pull away, neither am I. I think we both really need the support right now. “I think that’s a coincidence,” he says, bringing me back to reality.

I agree with him. “Do you have any left of it?” I ask. “Like, did it stay with you? My magic?”

“Residually?”

“Yeah.”

“No,” he answers slowly. “A feeling. A hum. Not power.” He’s looking back at me now.

Another thought occurs to me. Once again, I can’t seem to stop my brain from working overtime. “Can you do it on your end?” I ask.

“What do you mean?”

“We’re still touching,” I say, swinging our hands a little to emphasize my point. “Try to tap into it.”

He looks at me thoughtfully, then closes his eye. I see him tense up, then relax. He pulls my hand a little, then squeezes it, then loosens his grip. I don’t feel any different. He opens his eyes, making eye contact for just a second before his gaze lingers back down to my cross. “No,” he confirms. “I can’t take it from you.” There’s another silent moment and then he says, “Can you imagine? If there were a spell for that? We’d tear each other apart.”

“We’re already tearing each other apart,” I point out. Me and Baz, we know it better than anyone.

“I can’t take it,” he reiterates. Maybe to reassure me that he can’t kill me in my sleep, although I suppose he might be able to do that anyway if it weren’t for the Anathema. Merlin knows he’s tried.

“Do you think it hurt you, my magic?” I ask, because I’m an idiot who still cares about his well-being even after thinking about all the attempts he’s literally made on my life.

“No, I don’t think so.”

It lifts my spirits. “So we could do it again.”

“We just did, Snow,” he points out. He’s speaking carefully, no malice in his voice. As if he were skating on a pond with just a thin layer of ice.

Just like him, I know how easily this moment- whatever the hell is going on- can be broken. But it also feels like the only moment that maybe I’ll be able to reason with him without him freaking out, so I take a deep breath and say what’s on my mind, “Baz. This is stupid,” I say, and he’s looking at my face now and he’s holding his breath, “If we’re going to be working together, you can’t keep pretending that I don’t know.”

His hands immediately left mine, and I regretted it instantly when I saw the look on his face. But it had to be said. Why does he think he has to hide himself? Hasn’t the past few days taught him anything? Doesn’t he get that it doesn’t matter anymore?

“Don’t know what,” he says curtly.

“Don’t know about you,” I say, not knowing what to do with my hands now. “What you are.”

His expression changes from shock to anger. “Get off my bed, Snow.”

I try to reason with him. “It won’t change anything-”

He interrupts me. “Won’t it?” He says. A mixture of hostility and desperation.

“Well, it  _ would _ make things easier,” I argue. “How can we even discuss what we know about vampires when you won’t even admit that you are you?”

A whole new intensity comes over his face. His hand, wrapped over a mine a few minutes ago, is tightly balled into a fist. “ _ Get off my bed. _ ”

I stand up, hoping to compromise a little, but I didn’t step away. We’re going to sort this out now, goddammit, whether he likes it or not. “I  _ know _ ,” I say. “I’ve known since fifth year. How’re we supposed to help you if you’re still keeping all these secrets?” His face gets angrier as I talk, the opposite of what I had hoped for, but I continue anyway. “Like, why did you start school late this term? And what happened to you? And why are you limping?”

“That’s none of your business. None of it.” He doesn’t sound like he’s leaving a whole lot of room for discussion, which is as infuriating as ever.

_ Because I’m trying to actually care! _ I wanna scream, but I keep my voice calm. “You’re right, but you said you wanted my help. So you made it my business.”

He puts his chin in the air. “I’ll tell you whatever I think it relevant.”

“We’re supposed to find out who sent blood-sucking vampires to kill your mother, and you  _ are _ a blood-sucking vampire. You don’t think that’s relevant?”

It’s almost laughable.

He changes in an instant. All his anger dissipates and it’s replaced by exhaustion. I think it’s all fake- the anger, I mean. To cover up how exhausted and sad he actually is. Still, he doesn’t have to be such an asshole about it.

When he finally speaks, it’s just loud enough for me to hear. “I’m done with you today. I’ve been struck by lightning twice in the last twelve hours, and now I’m just done.


	13. Carry On Snowbaz Rewrites Pt. 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 50  
> Originally from: Simon's POV  
> Written in: Baz's POV

We’ve been working for days now, hours at a time, but our progress is slow, maybe nonexistent. Penelope wants us to let her stay in our room, but Simon and I are both against it. Secretly, I think it would help relieve the one-sided sexual tension a little, but Penny would be horrible to live with, and it’s also not worth the risk of getting caught. 

“Where would you sleep? The bathtub?” Simon asks jokingly. I smile a little, to the side so him and Penny can’t see.

Penny nods enthusiastically, clearly thinking he’d been serious. “I don’t mind sleeping in the bath. I could spell it squishy.”

I push back my long hair, insisting it was hard enough to share a bathroom with Snow, which is true. He’s insanely messy and prefers the route of minimal personal hygiene. “Penny, you have a perfectly good room,” Simon points out.

“Simon,” Penny says with sass, “A perfectly good room wouldn’t have Trixie in it.”

It’s weird, how the three of us almost have a group dynamic going on, constantly debating, bouncing ideas and sarcasm off one another. I remind myself not to get used it. “That’s your roommate?” I ask her. “The pixie?”

“Yes,” Penny says, obviously annoyed even thinking about it.

I can imagine why. I’ve always found pixies rather irritating myself. If my mum was still headmaster, they wouldn’t be here at all (although, neither would Simon). “Imagine you’re a pixie,” I propose, and upon seeing Penny’s disgusted face I add, “I know it’s distasteful, but imagine- you’re a  _ pixie _ , and you have a daughter, and you name her  _ Trixie. Trixie the Pixie. _ ”

“I think it’s kinda cute,” Snow says.

Bunce and I give each other a grossed out look, and then she says, “You think  _ Trixie’s _ kind of cute.”

“Trixie  _ is _ cute.”

These are the times I want to yell, I want to throw something, because everything is a constant reminder that even if Snow wasn’t my worst enemy, which he is, he’s still not gay. How the hell did I get stuck with both the best looking and straightest guy in the school for a roommate?

“Snow, I’ve just eaten,” I say. Then, to change the subject, I say, “It’s like being a fairy named Mary.”

“Or a vampire named Gampire,” Snow says. I can’t tell if he’s trying to once again bring up my own vampirism. He better not be.

“Gampire isn’t even a proper name, Snow,” I say. I’m not sure when I started teasing him without malice in my tone. “You’re terrible at this game.”

Penny interrupts with an intelligent point as usual. “In Trixie’s defence, the pixies don’t go around calling themselves ‘pixies’. I mean, you could be a human named Newman or a boy named Roy, and no one would think twice.”

I ignore her argument. “I’ll bet your room is covered in pixie dust.”

“ _ Don’t _ get her started,” Simon groans. “Good-night, Penny.”

“Fine,” she says, snatching up a book from the floor. She stands up, stretching. “See you guys at breakfast.”

And then it’s just me and Simon.

We haven’t exactly had any tender, heartwarming moments since we went star-gazing a few nights ago. But we haven’t exactly been fighting, either. It’s like we’ve spent the past 7 years learning how to spend the least amount of time near each other as possible, and it’s all been shattered in one week. The atmosphere has always been tense, but in the past, it’s always been hostile as well. When Penny’s here, it all dissipates and we can focus on business. When she’s gone, it’s a whole other story. I’ve been waiting years for a chance to talk to Simon without any death threats or fists flying, and now here’s my opportunity, and I’m just letting it slip by.

I watch as he gathers his clothing slowly and thoughtfully, lost in his own head like always. I swear he does it just to torture me. He doesn’t notice me staring. I’m lucky I didn’t fall in love with someone more observant. I could write my love for Snow in the sky and he probably wouldn’t notice.

It takes me some time, but eventually I gather the courage to ask him something that’s been on my mind since this morning.

He doesn’t turn around when I speak to him. “So what’s your plan next week? For the holidays?”

“Probably go home with Penny for a few days, then spend the rest of it here.” His voice sounds hollow. I guess I forget how much more the Agatha incident affected him than me. As much as it pains me to admit it, they dated for a long time. I’m not sure why I did all that stuff with Agatha, anyway. I want him to be happy, and I know that the truth is he’ll never look at me the way he looked at her. But it’s over now, and clearly we both need to move on.

“Not celebrating round the Wellbelove family hearth?” I say.

I jump a little when he slams the wardrobe shut. Really, I take pride in being the only one who can make him this angry. At least I hold _that_ special place in his heart. “Nope,” he says briskly. He doesn’t look at me as he walks past me to his own bed.

My heart is beating because, for once, I’m the one putting myself out on a limb, setting myself up for rejection. I spent years learning not to branch out like this, to wait for people to come to me. But here I am.

“Snow,” I say quietly.

“What.”

“You should come to Hampshire.” I purposely keep my voice neutral.

He finally turns to face me, shock on his face. It makes sense-  _ me _ , wanting to spend more time with  _ Snow _ ? I bet he never thought he’d see the day. But he doesn’t know anything, not really. “What?” He asks. “ _ Why? _ ”

Good thing I haven’t fed recently, so the blush I feel internally doesn’t show. Snow has taken a lot from me, but he won’t take my pride. I cross my arms indignantly. “Because you’ve sworn to help me find my mother’s killer,” I say, like that’s a perfectly reasonable explanation.

“I  _ am _ helping you,” he points out.

“Well, you’ll be more help to me there than you are here,” I say, reciting the reasons I’d invented in my head over the course of the day. “The library at home is far too big for me to cover myself. And I have a car there- we could actually investigate. You don’t even have the Internet here.”

He still looks skeptical. “You’re suggesting I go home with you.”

“Yes,” I confirm.

“For Christmas.”

“Yes.”

“With your family.”

I wish he didn’t sound so completely against the idea. It’s not like I asked him to support the Grimm’s political stances, or to become their best friends, or god forbid, to just _freaking_  date me. If anything, I’m doing him a favor. “Well, it’s not like you have family of your own,” I remind him. I know it’s cruel, but he’s not exactly being gracious himself.

He sounds even more wary than before. “You’re mad.”

“How is it mad? I could use your help, and there’s nothing here for you- you’d think you’d appreciate the company.”

He stops before he gets to the bathroom, turning toward me. His cheeks are red. He never was able to hide his emotions, something that came so naturally to me. “Your family  _ hates _ me,” he says.

“Yes, and? So do I.”

I really do, sometimes. But only because I love him.

“They want to kill me,” he says, overdramatic as usual.

“They won’t kill you,” I tell him. It seems like a ridiculous thing to have to reassure someone about. “You’ll be a guest. I’ll even cast the spell if you want.  **Be our guest.** ”

“I can’t stay in your house,” he says, sounding slightly panicked now. “Are you kidding me?”

“Snow, we’ve lived in the same room for seven years,” I point out, unable to keep the frustration out of my voice. “How can you have a problem with this?”

“You’re mad!” He repeats, slamming the bathroom door.

*******

I purposely wait until the last possible moment to leave for winter break, and I purposely take as long as I can packing my stuff. And it's totally _n_ _ ot _ because I really, really want Snow to change his mind.

I take my time shoving all our notes into my suitcase, not letting them tear or crumple. “Someone has to know something about Nicodemus,” I say, talking more out loud to myself than actually to Snow.

“Be careful, yeah?” He says to me, as if he actually cares. As if it wouldn't make everything easier on him if I just dropped off the face of the Earth. He could pretend he never made this stupid promise to me, and he could sleep peacefully without worrying about someone sucking his blood. “I mean, we don’t know who this Nicodemus is, and if he’s dangerous, we don’t want him to twig that we’re looking for him.”

“I’ll only talk to people I trust,” I promise.

“Yeah, but that’s it, isn’t it?” He says. “We don’t  _ know _ who to trust.”

“Do you trust Penelope?” I prompted him.

“Yes.”

“Do you trust her mother?”

He pauses for a moment before that one, then in a confident tone he says, “I trust her not to be evil.”

“Well, I trust my family,” I said, nodding in a matter-of-fact manner. “It doesn’t matter whether you do.”

He looks appalled, and he says, “I’m just telling you to be careful.”

I roll my eyes at his supposed heartfelt good-bye. It’s all bullshit. “Stop showing concern for my well-being, Snow,” I say calmly as I finish packing my bag. “It’s making me ill at ease.”

I’m done packing, and Simon still hasn’t changed his mind about coming with me. He hasn’t even contemplated it. He’s sitting there, staring at me with that permanent startled puppy dog look of his, and I realize there’s always gonna be a wall there. Him on one side, me on the other. No matter how long we work together, no matter how long we banter and research and eat dinner together. We’ll still avoid each other in the hallways, our families will still be at war, and we’ll still be at each other’s throats at the end of the day. Even if he bloody decided he was in love with me, god forbid, the wall will still be there.

All I can do is lower it a little.

“Snow…” I say.

His eyes look with mine, a frown etched on his face. “What.”

“I feel like I should tell you something,” I say quickly, before I can convince myself to back out. “In the interest of our truce.” He doesn’t respond, so I continue. “That day you saw Wellbelove and me in the Wood…”

He cuts me off before I can figure out how to properly word it. “How can this possibly be in the interest of our truce?” He lets his eyes flutter shut (literally flutter) and his anger is replaced by exhaustion.

“That day you saw me with Wellbelove in the wood-” I repeat, “It’s not what you think.”

His eyes open quickly, and they lock with mine questioningly. “You weren’t trying to pull my girlfriend?”

_ Ex-girlfriend _ , I think. “No,” I answer honestly.

He rolls his eyes, looking away from me toward the ground. “Sod off. You’ve been trying to get between me and Agatha since the day she chose me over you.”

I find it slightly amusing that he thinks I ever actually pursued Agatha. I consider telling him that, but instead I say, “She never chose you over me.”

“Get over yourself, Baz,” he says, scowling.

I feel my insides shutting down, like this is the first time he’s rejected me. Like he hasn’t rejected me everyday since we were made roommates. Like  _ I _ haven’t rejected  _ him _ every day since I’ve known him. “No, what I’m saying is-” I want to scream, to punch someone, to rip off his stupid cross and kiss him, “I’ve never been an option for Wellbelove.”

He lets his head fall backward, scoffing lightly. “I shouldn’t have thought so, but apparently, I was wrong,” he says. His voice is bitter. “Look, you’ve got a clear shot at her now. She’s done with me.”

How could someone have Simon and just let him go? Even if I did like girls, I wouldn’t date her, because clearly, she’s crazy.

“She  _ interrupted _ me. That day in the Wood.” It’s a lie, but maybe it will get him back on my good side. If Agatha had seen me feed that day, I’m sure she wouldn’t want to date me. I’m sure she would have turned me in, at minimum. She has a pretty big reputation as a snitch. (Also a snob, but so do I). “She interrupted my  _ dinner _ ,” I reemphasized when he didn’t answer. “She saw me. I was asking her not to tell anyone.”

He’s still not convinced. “And you had to hold her hands for that?”

“I only did that bit to piss you off. I knew you were watching,” I say, truthfully. Okay, maybe I had ulterior motives. I’m sorry. I want him to be happy now. I regret it. But I’m making it right now, aren’t I?

“Well, it worked,” he snaps.

He doesn’t understand. I’m trying to fix my mistake, I’m trying to make him happy again even though it will kill me inside. He thinks I’m being selfish, but he doesn’t understand, and he probably never will. “You’re not even listening,” I say, through gritted teeth. “I’m not  _ ever _ going to come between you and Wellbelove. I was just trying to piss you off.”

I’m telling him right now. I don’t want her. I’ll never, ever want her. I’ll never want anyone but him. But he’s not listening. He never listens. He always just hears what he wants to hear.

“Are you saying you flirted with Agatha just to hurt me?”

“ _ Yes _ ,” I say, hoping it will be the end of the conversation.

“You never cared about her?”

“ _ No _ .”

For once, Snow is looking down at me, and I’m the one that’s feeling ashamed. The whole world is upside down. My brain is a mess. Nothing is fair. “And you think I want to hear that?” He says, his calm exterior finally snapping.

“Well, obviously,” I said, frustration and despair both finding their way into my voice, “Now you can make up with her and have the best Christmas ever.”

“You’re such an arse!” He yells, jumping off the bed and heading toward me, clearly not with the intentions to hug and make-up.

I have to yell at him, remind of the Anathema, but he almost doesn’t stop. He’s seething. I can practically see his nostrils flaring, metaphorical steam coming from his ears. Well, this is the last time I try to do anyone a favor.

“Does she know?” He asks, intimidating despite the fact I’m quite a bit taller than him and he has to look up at me.

I don’t answer, shrugging a little. This is the first time it’s actually occurred to me to feel bad for Agatha in this situation- I’ve only been thinking about me, and Snow. Then again, that’s all I ever think about. Me. Snow. Me and Snow. Snow and I.

“You’re  _ such _ an arse,” he says again, cooling down a little but obviously still very upset.

“It was just flirting,” I say, and I sound stupid and I’m nervous because Snow’s lips are maybe three inches from mine, and he’s flustered and it’s attractive and I say, “It’s not like I tried to feed her to a chimera.”

It’s a hint. I’ve basically just told him- I mean, how much more obvious can it get?  _ It was just flirting. It’s not like I tried to feed her to a chimera. _ Because that’s what I do to people I genuinely like- I try to feed them to chimeras. But Simon Snow, in all his daftness and his thick-headedness and genuine goodness, doesn’t understand.

“Yeah, but she  _ likes _ you,” he says, and now he sounds whiny. I almost cringe because I did this to him- I made him feel this way. “I think she likes you better than me.”

He’s so close right now. I could caress his cheek, or hold his hand, or kiss him until his lips are numb. But I can’t do any of those things, not really, so the next best option is to distance myself. I’m cruel to him and he’ll never find out because of it, he’ll never even suspect, and we can find my mom’s killer and then he can turn me in, or maybe he’ll let me live and I’ll graduate and move on with my life and pretend I never, ever cared for Simon Snow.

I shrug casually and say, “Why wouldn’t she?”

“Fuck you, Baz,” he says, and he’s so close I can feel the warmness of his breath, “Seriously. She was carrying around your bloody handkerchief, that whole time you were gone. Since last year.”

I’m a little surprised, but not enough to care. It’s not my fault her fantasies were incredibly misguided. Although, I do sympathize with her in that aspect.

“What handkerchief?” I say, feigning boredom.

He turns around, and I think he’s going to walk straight out of the room, but instead he opens his top drawer. He rummages around it a bit, and I stare at the back of his head, wishing I could fall through the floor and never come back. He finds what he’s looking for, and when he turns back around he has the handkerchief in his hand. He shoves it in my face, like it will make any difference. “This one,” he says, his voice two octaves higher than usual.

I grab it, just so he’ll stop waving it around everywhere, but he takes it back. I’m not sure why he’d want to have anything of mine right now, or why he kept the damn thing in the first place. But it’s not fair to him, none of it is, I know that. It’s not fair to me either. But if only one of us can be happy, he damn well deserves it a hell of a lot more than I do.

“Look,” I say softly, hoping to resolve this so we can go back to our weird, in between, peaceful state from earlier, “I’ll stop. I’ll leave Wellbelove alone from now on. She doesn’t matter to me.”

He looks at me in disbelief, which quickly turns to fury. “That makes it worse!” He shouts.

I’ll never be good enough for Simon Snow. But I don’t think anyone will.

“That I  _ won’t _ stop!” I’m practically incoherent when I yell back at him, my mouth moving faster than my brain. “Is that better?” He’s staring at me, and I know I’m making it worse, but I don’t care anymore because none of it matters- nothing helps. “I’ll damned well marry her, and we’ll have the best-looking kids in the history of magic, and we’ll name them all Simon just to get under your skin.”

“Just go!” He shouts. One hand points at the door, the other hands is wrapped tightly around  _ my  _ handkerchief. “ _ Seriously _ . If I have to look at you anymore, I won’t even care about the Anathema. If I get kicked out of Watford, at least I’ll finally be done with you!”

Simon Snow hates me more than he loves Watford. And that’s saying something.


	14. Carry On Snowbaz Rewrites Pt. 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 53  
> Originally from Baz's POV  
> Written in Simon's POV

At first, when the door opens, I think it’s Baz’s step mum. I almost faint. Then I see her clothes, and I realize she’s a maid. Or a helper? I’m not what the right word is. She’s not friendly, but she’s not mean, either. She looks sympathetic when she sees me standing outside in the cold, and she lets me come in, under the condition that I don’t step off the large welcome mat.

Of course, from the outside Baz’s mansion is huge, but from the inside- well, it’s more of a palace. There’s more than one grand, curving staircase, just leading out of this room. Everything looks like it’s made of silver or gold. I try to imagine what it’d be like to come here every summer, instead of to a foster home, but I can’t.

The reality of the fact that I’m waiting inside Baz’s house hits me while I wait for the lady to retrieve him. I wouldn’t put it past him to kick me out. And while it would be a dick move, I wouldn’t be able to blame him. We hadn’t exactly left on good terms. But still, what I had to tell him was important. Surely he’d hear me out since it was about his mom.

“Snow.”

I snap my head up toward the closest staircase, and there he is.

He doesn’t look intimidating, for once. He’s wearing dark jeans, secure over his legs and waist but still comfortable looking, and a fitted sweater. I’m not sure why, but I like this look much better than his Watford uniform. He looks like a normal guy, not the evil heir of the Old Families. He looks like someone I’d play a friendly soccer match with on a weekend off. He looks  _ good _ .

“ _ Baz _ ,” I answer back, because right now I don’t know what else to say.

He smirks at me, and he looks more like his usual self. “I’m trying to imagine what you’re doing at my door…” he says slowly, “Did you roll down a very steep hill and land here?”

“ _ Baz _ …” I repeat dumbly. I should tell him I have new information, that it’s urgent, I know who Nicodemus is. Instead, I say, “You’re- you’re wearing jeans.”

“I am,” he says, and again his lips turn up, but this time it looks like it might be an actual smile, “And you’re wearing half the countryside.”

I look down bashfully. “I had to walk from the road.”

“Did you?” He doesn’t sound concerned, but he doesn’t sound like he’s going to curse me right then and there either, so that’s a good sign.

“The taxi driver was afraid to come down your drive,” I explain. “He thinks your house is haunted.”

“It is,” he says, bluntly. Then, after an awkward pause, he says, “Well, it was good of you to stop by-”

I step forward, intending to interrupt him, then I remember I’m supposed to stay on the rug, so I step back again. I let out a small growl. “I came to talk to you,” I say.

“All right.” I’m surprised he doesn’t argue more, but he seems content enough with that.

I start to explain, but immediately trail off, not sure where to start.

He doesn’t wait long enough for me to figure it out. “All right,” he says again. “But you can’t come in the house like that. How did you even  _ get _ like that?”

“I told you,” I said, irritation starting to slip into my voice. I was cold and wet, and this house was unfamiliar in every way possible. “I walked from the main road.”

He shakes his head disapprovingly, but he doesn’t look mad. “You could have cast a spell to stay clean.”

We share a knowing look. He’s just making fun of the fact that I can’t seem to cast a spell on anyone, including my myself, without somehow messing it up. Or any spell at all, for that matter. Instead of pushing it further, like he would usually do, he pulls out his wand and spells my boots clean. Then he spells the dirt out of the house. I surprised he even used his actual hands to open the door- he uses his wand for everything so casually. It’s a waste of magic, but right now I’m grateful.

I take off my soaking wet coat, but the layers underneath are just as damp. My hair is longer than usual, like it always is when it’s wet. I must look as gross as I feel because Baz lifts his wand to finish cleaning me up. I stop him, holding out my palm and saying, “I’m fine.”

He nods in resignation, tucking his wand back up his sleeve. “You’ll have to take off your boots,” he informs me. “They’re still dripping.”

I do as he says, unlacing my boots and sliding them off and then placing them to the side of the rug. I’m still cold and wet, but I’m starting to feel a little less icky. Baz looks a little flustered, and I can’t blame him. This was definitely not a situation I ever would have pictured myself in. He gives me another once over, and apparently satisfied with my level of hygiene, he gives me a brisk nod.

“Come on, Snow,” he says. “Let’s… talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! I'm working on several story ideas right now so I might be slower at updating. I hope y'all don't mind! Trust me, it'll be worth it. I can come back to this story at any time, since I own the book, but I'm scared the inspiration for my other ideas will slip away if I don't start to write them! Thanks in advance for understanding :)


	15. Carry On Snowbaz Rewrites Pt. 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 54  
> Originally from Snow's POV  
> Written in Baz's POV

I try not to look at the awe on Simon’s face as I lead him through my gigantic house. I’m not sure where exactly he goes every summer, but I’m sure it’s nowhere as nice as this. I have no reason to feel guilty for that, but I do.

I curse internally when we run across my stepmother kitchen. I can see the look on Snow’s face turn from amazement to dread in three seconds flat when he realizes who she is. She’s going to scare him off and all she’s done so far is smile awkwardly at him.

“Mother,” I say, rolling my eyes at the look of astonishment on her face mirroring Simon’s, “You remember my roommate, Simon Snow. Snow, you’ve met my stepmother, Daphne Grimm.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Grimm,” he says, surprisingly polite. I’m sure his internal monologue is much less accommodating.

She nods politely, but her face is still confused. “And you, Mr. Snow. Are you here on official business?”

I shake my head at her, annoyed at her behavior. She's looking at him like he has nine heads. “He’s just here to visit, Mother,” I say, my tone slightly harsher than I would normally use addressing her. “We have a project we’re working on together- a school project. And you don’t have to call him that. You can just call him Simon.”

“ _ You _ don’t call me Simon,” he complains, quiet enough that Daphne can’t hear him.

“We’ll be up in my room,” I say to her, resisting the urge to roll my eyes a little as his constant whining.

She takes one more unsure glance at Simon, like he might burst into flames any second (he might). “I’ll send for you when dinner’s ready,” she says finally, dismissing us.

“Thanks,” I reply. I don’t warn Simon before turning around and speeding down the hallway. I walk quickly, my legs automatically carrying me in the right direction despite the long passageways and excessive doorways. I don’t look back at Simon, only hearing his clumsy footsteps and ragged breathing behind me. For someone who’s so talented at football, he’s ridiculously out of shape.

When we reach my room, I watch his face as he takes it in, knowing that it’s exactly what he’d expect. Dark red decor, large gargoyles, victorian era decorations, oversized furniture. He looks like he wants to say something, make a joke about it maybe, but he keeps his mouth shut. I close the door quietly and sit down at the foot of my bed.

I give him a wary glance. He stands awkwardly by the door, eyes darting around the room, hands fidgeting nervously. I feel bad for him. “All right, Snow,” I say. “What the hell are you doing here?”

His eyes finally stop on me, and he lets out a breath I didn’t know he’d been holding. “You invited me,” he says.

I almost laugh at the irony. “Is that why you’re here? For Christmas?"

“No,” he says. His cheeks get redder by the second. “I’m here because I have something to tell you- but you  _ did _ invite me.”

I wish I could smile fondly at him, and tell him he’s the loveliest, most idiotic man on Earth.

“Just tell me,” I say. “Is it about my mother?”

“I found out who Nicodemus is.”

I jump up, still keeping my distance but feeling a sudden urgency at the new information. “ _ Who? _ ” I ask.

“He’s Ebb’s brother.”

“Ebb your girlfriend?” I say, because even in this shitty situation, I still can’t help wanting to push his buttons a little. Or tear them open- whichever.

“Ebb the goatherd.”

“She does,” he insists. “A twin. He was stricken from the Book when he became a  _ vampire _ .”

I can’t decide what the scariest part of this new information is. My loudest thought is that they’re going to strike _me_ from the book. I immediately feel guilty for being so selfish. But the longer the information sinks in, the longer I start to feel like I might collapse. “Ebb’s brother was Turned?” I ask, my voice weak. “They struck him from the Book for that?”

“No, he joined up with the vampires himself. Voluntarily.”

I look at him, trying not to let my newfound emotions show on my face despite his ignorance. “What? That isn’t actually how it works, Snow.”

He steps toward me (I can smell his cologne lingering under the stink of mud). “How  _ does _ it work, Baz?”

I lean away from him a little, unable to control a scowl from taking over my face. “You don’t fucking  _ join up _ ,” I snap at him.

“This Nicodemus did,” Simon insists. “He tried to get Ebb to go with him.”

“Ebb. The  _ goatherd _ . Has a brother named Nicodemus that nobody’s ever heard of-”

He interrupts me, his voice raw and frustrated. “I told you- we haven’t heard about him, because he’s  _ stricken _ . That’s why Ebb lives at Watford. Your mum gave her a job, so she wouldn’t join her brother. They’re both bloody superheroes, I guess, and everybody was afraid they’d team up and be supervampires.” He says it practically all in one breath, looking pretty flustered nearing the end.

“Ebb knew my mother?” I asked, the thing that stood out most out of everything he’d told me.

“Yeah,” he confirms, breathing heavily. “Your mum gave Ebb her job.”

This information is foreign. It doesn’t add up in my head, and I don’t like the idea of Snow knowing things about my mom that I don’t, so I choose to ignore it until I have more time to think about it later. I settle on a more important topic. “Well, where is he now? This Nicodemus?”

“Ebb doesn’t know,” he says, and disappointment surges through me. “She’s not supposed to talk to him. She’s not supposed to talk about him, even.”

I can’t imagine Ebb being the type of person to abandon her brother, and I have a hunch she’d try to protect him if she did have any information. “Doesn’t know, does she?” I ask, no longer bothering to keep the disdain out of my voice. “Well, we’ll see about that.”

Simon puts his hand on my chest. It’s an unnecessary gesture, and I should light him on fire for even trying. I hope he can’t feel how hard my heart is beating in my chest. “No. Ebb doesn’t know where Nicodemus is. We’re not talking to her again.”

He sounds confident that she had told him the truth, but then again, Snow is possibly the most naive person to walk this Earth. “I’ll talk to the goatherd if I want to, Snow,” I say, my eyes challenging his own.

“Not if you want my help.”

His hand is firm on my chest, pushing just hard enough to make his point but not enough to actually move me backward. I grab his wrist, holding it for just one second before shoving his whole hand off of me. “Fine. Then how  _ do _ we find Nicodemus?”

“I haven’t thought it through that far,” he says. He’s so dense. I don’t point it out- I don’t push him any farther away than he already is (not physically, of course). “I came here as soon as I left Ebb’s.”

This doesn’t quite register with me yet. “Well, what does Penelope think?” I ask.

“I haven’t talked to her yet,” he says, as if this is a totally normal Simon Snow thing to say and not a rare occurrence. Then again, he’s come to me first with everything about my mum so far. He’s so thoughtful. I’m starting to wonder if I’d do the same for him, and if I’d ever come anywhere near his level of goodness. If I even wanted to.

“Where is she?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” he says, shrugging. “I told you, I haven’t talked to her. I came straight here.”

I’m eyeing him suspiciously, still not believing that I would ever be the first one on Snow’s mind, in any situation. “You came straight here?” I ask.

He rolls his eyes, as if it was the obvious thing to do and not a completely selfless, thoughtful act. Like he wasn’t terrified to come here yesterday but had come anyway for my sake. “Would you rather I waited to tell you after Christmas Break?” He asks sarcastically.

He finally decides what to do with his hands, putting them on his hip, the same "I won't take any more of this nonsense" gesture Fiona often uses. As if everything that comes out of his mouth isn’t nonsense. “What about you?” He asks. “Have you made any progress?”

I feel almost ashamed at my lack of information to share after Snow figured out so much about Nicodemus. I look away when I speak to him. “No. I mean, I’ve been reading a lot of books about vampires.”

“What have you found out?” He asks, and I don’t miss the humor that he lets drip into his voice.

“That they’re dead and evil and like to kill babies,” I say, half-joking and half-serious.

“Huh,” he says, a fake thoughtful look on his face. “Did it say anything about salt and vinegar chips?”

I can’t decide if I want to laugh or punch him. Both, I guess. I settle for sneering at him, hating him for being so passive aggressive but thankful that he wasn’t outright bringing it up again. “No one knows anything about the vampires,” I say, walking toward my desk as I talk so I don’t have to see that obnoxious, knowing look on his face. “Not really. Maybe I should just go talk to him.”

I hear my sister’s footsteps outside the door before I’m finished speaking, and then after a quick tap from the outside, it opens abruptly. I turn back around, glaring at her in a threatening way I usually reserve for Simon. “You’re supposed to knock!” I say.

“I did knock,” she says.

We’ve had this argument a hundred times, and now that Snow is here it seems even stupider yet more important than ever. “Well, you’re supposed to wait for me to say come in,” I remind her, my tone harsh.

She ignores me, raising one eyebrow. She learned that from me. “Mum says you have to come down for dinner.”

“Fine,” I snap. I glance at Simon. He looks uncomfortable, staring at the ground. “We’ll be down soon. Go away,” I say to my still-lingering sibling.

She lets the door fall shut slowly behind her when she leaves. I guess Simon didn’t get the memo when I said  _ we’d _ be down soon, because he says, “Well, I’d better head back. Send a message if you hear more. You can try to call, but I don’t think there’s anyone answering the school phone over break.”

I’m shocked that Snow wants to leave so soon, and then I remember that he hates this house. And my family. And me. But I don’t want him to leave, and even if I did, we still have the investigation. “What?” I say, feigning confusion over his sudden departure.

He huffs before repeating himself. “I said, send a message if-”

“You’re not leaving now,” I say, cutting him off.

He looks unsure for a second, then scared like maybe I plan on kidnapping him and locking him in the dungeon (yes, we have a dungeon). “I told you everything I know,” he says.

I sigh. I don’t want to let on I care about him, even a little, because even that would make our relationship utterly confusing. But I wasn’t totally heartless. “Snow,” I say, keeping my voice even. “You came in on the last train, then you walked for an hour. You haven’t eaten all day, and your hair’s still wet- you’re not going anywhere tonight.”

He still looks indecisive. “Well, I can’t stay  _ here _ ,” he says, wrinkling his nose in distaste. I wonder if it's this house or me that he wants to get away from.

“You haven’t burst into flames yet,” I point out sarcastically.

He rolls his eyes. “Baz, listen-”

I put my hand in between us, but unlike him, I leave it inches from his chest. “No,” I say.

I walk out my bedroom door without another word, and I’m relieved when I hear his footsteps following mine without any more objection.


	16. Carry On Snowbaz Rewrites Pt. 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After all this time I'm updating this!!! I decided to reread the book so now I'm feeling inspired while I'm bored and home from break. I hope you're all still excited to read it!
> 
> Chapter 55  
> This chapter is a switching chapter so I'll let you know in the text.

Originally from: Baz's POV

Written in: Snow's POV

I slayed a dragon at the age of 11, and never have I been more nervous than I was eating dinner with the Pitch family. 

I could see the way they were looking at me, especially Baz. Normally he'll give me a cold glance once in a while, but his gaze has been lingering ever since we sat down. It's making me even more self conscious than his dad, who looks about as uncomfortable as I feel. The rest of his family looks more curious than anything. His step mum is nice; every time I clear my plate, she offers me more. The food is so good I can't bring myself to say no. 

Everyone here eats so elegantly (and slowly). I try to match them, but I don't think it's doing much. I'm starving from not eating anything since the cookies at Ebb's shack, and those weren't much. The worst part is that at the end of dinner, Baz's dad asked to speak to him for a moment and I'm left alone with his siblings, who openly ask questions now that their brother and father are gone. 

I breathe a sigh of relief when Baz arrives right as the oldest one asks me if I have a girlfriend. Luckily he doesn't hear it and she goes quiet as soon as he gets there. He motions for me to follow him, mumbling under his breath that we're going to the library. I follow him silently and as closely as possible, scared of getting lost in this huge house. 

Once we get there, he gets directly to business. He sits down at a small stack of books piled in an inconspicuous corner of the unnecessarily large library. Who even needs this many books? I think again how scarily alike him and Penny are. He magics over two chairs to sit at the table and starts going through facts about vampires he's found in them, pointing out bookmarked pages and sticky notes with his small, neat handwriting on them. I'm overwhelmed by all the information and by how close we're sitting- why did he put the chairs next to each other instead of across?- and it's probably closer than I've ever been to him for this length of time. I automatically pull away every time my shoulder brushes his, both because I feel nervous and because I don't want to piss him off. It's frustrating not just being able to ask him why he doesn't know half this stuff. I mean, seriously? But I'm at his house and apparently I'm not leaving anytime soon so I keep my mouth shut. 

"Have you tried Fine Tooth Comb-ing for Nicodemus Petty?" I ask him when he finishes updating me on his information on vampires. I lean back in my chair, rubbing my eyes.

"No, Snow," he says, sarcasm dripping in his voice. "I hadn't thought of that one yet. Next should I try attending kindergarten?"

I roll my eyes.

He sighs, clearly as worn out as I am. "You know what, it actually might not hurt to try again. I'll do it one more time."

I'm a little shocked by his cooperation, but I try not to show it, giving him a thumbs up. He tries again and can't find anything but we do manage to find a few things about the Petty family in general, so we focus on studying those for a while. We both move around the room separately, scouring different areas and reading in adjacent corners of the room. 

Eventually I break the silence, asking "Do you think it would of made The Record when Nicodemus crossed over?' 

"I don't know. Maybe not. They probably wanted to keep it hush-hush, and it doesn't seem like he hurt anybody."

Just like everyone keeps it hush-hush for you, I think. But again, I choose not to say it.

My mind rolls around the concept of someone consciously deciding to become a vampire, and I ask, "What's the point of becoming a vampire if you're not planning on hurting anybody?"

"What's the point of becoming a vampire?" Baz retaliates, sounding tense. 

"You tell me," I say, quirking my eyebrow. 

He ignores me, looking back at the book he'd been reading before I interrupted him. 

I grab my chair and pull it back to the table from earlier, this time sitting directly across from him. "No, I'm serious," I say. I'm not letting him get away with this any longer if it could help us solve this case. After all, it's in  _his_ best interest. "Why would Nicodemus have done it?"

"You're asking me to pose a theory?" He asks, looking back up at me.

I nod.

"To become stronger. Physically."

I keep my face neutral at this new information. "How much stronger?" 

"You'd have to ask him," Baz says. "I don't know how to compare."

Right, I think. It was stupid of me to ask. He was so young when he was turned. "What else?" I press.

"To enhance himself... his senses."

"Like, to see better?"

"In the dark," he confirms. "And hear more. And smell more sharply."

"To live forever?" I've always wondered this one. He's aged the same as me, so how could he possibly be immortal?

He pauses, shaking his head. "I don't think so," he says. "I don't think it works like that. But he wouldn't ever... be sick."

That makes sense- I've never seen Baz with a fever or a sniffly nose. And he's always had perfect attendance (excluding this year, of course). "When you look at it that way, why doesn't everyone cross over?" I ask, half joking and half genuinely confused. 

"Because it's death," Baz answers without hesitation.

I can't decide if I'm annoyed or if I feel bad. "Clearly it isn't," I retort. 

"They say your soul dies," he says ominously. But he sounds serious.

"That's tosh."

"How would you know, Snow?"

"Observation."

"Observation. You can't observe a soul," he says.

"You can over time," I insist. Baz definitely had a soul. After all, you can't be evil without a soul. "I think I'd know-"

"It's death," he repeats, cutting me off, "because you need to eat life to stay alive."

This seems contradictory to me. "That's everyone," I point out. "That's eating."

"It's death because when you're hungry, you can't stop thinking about eating other people." Baz keeps his composure, as usual, but I can tell from his voice that he's less than happy about this conversation. He averts his eyes. “It’s death because you look at other people, living people, and they seem really far away. They seem like something else. The way that birds seem like something else. And they’re full of something you don’t have. You could take it from them, but it still won’t be yours. They’re full, and … you’re hungry. You’re not alive. You’re just hungry."

I wish he would look at me. I'm overwhelmed for the second time tonight by what he's saying. What must it feel like to think that you're not real, not alive, like everyone around you? "You have to be alive to be hungry," I say. "You have to be alive to change."

"Maybe you should write a book about vampires," he says, the traces of emotion gone from his voice and replaced by his usual snark.

"Maybe I should. Apparently I'm the world's leading expert," I answer. 

Finally he looks up at me. His gaze is intense, but it's soft. Softer than he's ever looked at me before. I can't deal with the eye contact, with his gaze, and I look away, saying, "You should ask your parents."

"Whether I'm alive?" He snarls. I look back at him, and he looks as shocked by his own words as I am.

"I meant you should ask them if they remember Nicodemus," I say quickly. "Maybe they know where he is."

He gives me a cold look, back to his icy self. "I’m not asking my parents about the only magician to run off to join the vampires. Are you a complete moron?"

"Oh. I guess I didn't think about it that way."

"You didn't think-" He stops mid sentence, clearly realizing something. "Oh. Oh, oh, oh."

Originally from: Simon's POV

Written in: Baz's POV

It's so obvious, I can't believe I just thought of it now. My Aunt Fiona went to school with Ebb, and that means she went to school with Nicodemus. There has to be something in her old room- photos, a memory book, notes, something from her past. 

I shoot up out of my chair and run toward her room, assuming Simon will follow me. My assumptions are confirmed when I hear his clumsy footsteps tripping behind me. I try to run as slow as I have to so he can keep up but I'm feeling excited. This could be the biggest lead we've had since the beginning of the investigation. Finally, I see her door but I feel a wall stopping me from entering. I roll my eyes, grabbing my wand out of my pocket and casting all the disarming spells I can think of. "So predictably paranoid," I mutter. Fiona always thinks someone is after her. To be fair, sometimes people really are after her. But I can't imagine anyone trespassing in this house unless they had a death wish.

"What're we doing?" Snow asks, sounding almost as nervous as he did at dinner. 

"Looking for Nicodemus," I say between spells.

"You think he might live here?" Snow says stupidly.

"No but-" I'm cut off by the loud squeak of the door swinging open. I don't bother to explain the rest, stepping inside and scanning the room for clues. I spot the perfect thing- a bookshelf. 

"Whose room is this?" Snow asks as I make my way over. 

"My Aunt Fiona's."

Snow immediately steps away, almost backing out of the room completely. "What are we doing here?" 

"Looking for something..." I mutter. And then I spot it. The best thing I possibly could've found- a memory book. I've seen it before but Fiona's never let me look through it. "I'm pretty sure Fiona went to school with Ebb," I finally explain to Simon. "I've heard her talk about her. Disparagingly, I promise you. She never mentioned Ebb's brother, though..." 

I start to look through, scanning each page for familiar faces but coming up short. Snow finally gets over his nerves and steps back into the room, crouching beside me. "What is that?" He asks, his breath warm and distracting on my neck. 

It seems stupid to me that he doesn't recognize it, but it's easy to forget he's not as familiar with Watford as the rest of us. "It's a memory book. They used to give them out as Watford before the Mage took over. At your leavers ball. It’s got class pictures from every year and little stories.…" I trailed off as I reach the last page. There was a few photos taped underneath them. Bingo. 

"Look," Snow says, pointing to a photo with Fiona and a boy who has his arm resting over her shoulders. Underneath it says "Me and Nickels" with a heart. "Ebb," Snow says.

"Fiona," I correct him, closing the book. I know who Nickels is and I know what I need to do. Fiona has a weak spot for me. She'll tell me where he is, and I'll hunt him down.

Snow takes the book out of my hand gently, his fingers brushing mine. I let him take it. He's relaxed now, leaning backward and flipping through, taking in each page agonizingly slow. I take the opportunity to observe him. His mouth hangs open and his eyes droop. 

Eventually he looks back up at me. "Did you know Watford used to have a drama society?"

"Watford used to have a lot of things before the Mage," I say, taking the book back from him. I tried to put it back exactly the way it was, just in case Fiona ever came back. But it's so messy in here she'd probably never notice, anyway. 

"Where are we going?" Snow asks.

"Now? To bed. Tomorrow? London." He doesn't answer, and he's still sitting. "Come on," I say again. "I'll show you to your room."

***

I drop Snow off quickly before going to feed. It's easier here than at Watford. My house is surrounded by woods and I don't have to worry about getting caught. By the time I get back to my bedroom, I feel full and dead tired, and despite all the new information I've just uncovered, all I can think about it Snow showing up at my doorway. Covered in mud and grime but still looking as angelic as always. He came here, to see me. To help me. 

Just as I finally get the picture out of my brain and start to fall asleep, I hear a knock on my door. I immediately shoot up, my heart pounding, because it can only be one person. My family has never disturbed me overnight, knowing full well that I might not be in my room at all. 

I jump off my bed even though my head is still groggy and walk to the door. I open it to see Snow in my pajamas that he borrowed, looking sleepy but uncomfortable. I wish I hadn't just hunted because I'm sure he can see how hard I'm blushing. "What?" I ask.

"I'm leaving. The room is haunted," he says. His curls are sticking out on one side of his face. I stop myself from grinning.

"The whole house is haunted, I told you."

"I'm leaving," he says.

"Come on, Snow, you can sleep on my couch," I bargain. Besides being a completely irrational idea for him to leave at this time of night, I'll be damned if he goes after I've come this far. "The wraith's don't hang out in here."

 "Why not?"

"I creep them out."

"You creep me out," he says, but there's no malice in it. Not like there usually is. I throw a pillow at him. 

And this time, I fall asleep quickly. 


	17. Carry On Snowbaz Rewrites Pt. 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 60  
> Originally from: Snow's POV  
> Written in: Baz's POV

It's probably not the right time to think about this but- this is kind of a date. A murder investigation date, but a date nonetheless. 

Snow and I have a lot of time, so first we got to a library, then a museum. I steal a few helpful books, which Snow reprimands me for, but it's not like he actually tries to stop me. Then we walk around the park, and then we find a place to eat.

 So, yeah. It's kind of a date. On my side. It's fun to play pretend, at least, until I have to deal with the reality of the situation sooner or later. Sooner, I guess.

 Snow gets some curry and eats it like his normal animalistic self while I browse one of the books I just got. "You should eat something," he eventually says. 

 "Oh, piss off," I answer. I can't tell if he's making a jab or not, so I just take the safe route and scowl at him before I turn back to my book. But I can't focus with him sitting across from me, curry on his chin and a pout on his lips. It's getting to be late enough to go anyway, so I shut the book and stand up. "Come on, Snow," I say, smirking. "Let's go find a vampire."

 "Thanks, but I'm already over the limit," he says, wiping off the aforementioned curry. How can he look so messy and disheveled yet perfect at the same time?

 I ignore his remark, turning and walking away.

I hear him scrambling after me. "Hey," he says loudly. I ignore him until I feel his hand grab my arm. 

 I pull back, glaring at him. "You can’t just grab people when you want their attention," I scold him.

 "I said 'Hey.'"

 "Still."

 "I've been thinking, if we're going to do this, you have to start calling me by my name."

This seems out of the blue. And it's an easy request, but honestly I've been calling him Snow so many years it's just easier. "Snow is your name," I say, mostly to get on his nerves. "Who named you, anyway?"

 He looks down, frowning. I immediately regret asking. I know I've brought up his family situation a million times before, but not when he was just about to risk his life walking into a vampire den with me. It feels low, even for me. 

 "You have to call me Simon," he says, although it sounds almost like a demand. As if we're negotiating. "You've called me that before."

 I open the door to my car, glancing at him over the roof, and I decide to give him this one. "Fine. Get in the car, Simon." 

 ***

 It took us a long time to find the place. I kept getting a hold of the scent then losing it, but I finally found something strong that stuck. It wasn't too bad for me, especially having fed recently, but I could tell all the walking was taking a toll on Snow. His feet were starting to drag by the time we got to the place.

 But when I do find it, I'm sure it's the right place. The smell of vampires is stronger than ever. I stop and give it a once over- it's old and shabby, but not too run down. 

 Simon is getting even more restless than before. "Is this it? Are they here?" He asks. 

I fix my collar and cuffs. I'm not sure I want Simon to come in with me. Firstly, he doesn't look the part. I'm trying to be intimidating, but he wouldn't wear anything fancier than trousers and a jumper. But more than that, I'm worried for him. In the end, this is my battle, not his. But I know he'd never listen if I told him to stay outside. "Stay close," I warn him quietly before I knock on the door.

We're answered by a very large man, and after the approval of another man at a bar, we're allowed inside. The place is very swanky, exactly the kind of place you'd expect vampires to hang out. I wish Snow would wipe the look of shock off his face, but he's taking everything in with his mouth hanging just a little open like always. The next thought that comes to my mind is that this could be me in ten years. Of course, that probably isn't true, coming from the Pitch family. But what if my secret gets out and I get struck from the book like Nicodemus? Is this what my life will be?

 Snow doesn't seem to think so. I glance at him and he's looking at me in awe, like I'm the best thing on this planet (which isn't true. I'm just the best thing in this bar, besides him). He's definitely never looked at me like that before. It boosts my confidence and I approach the first booth there is. "Nicodemus," I state in hardest voice I can. The voice my father uses when he's angry with me.

 The guy gives me a quick once over before nodding toward the back of the room. He scowls at Snow, who probably shouldn't be wearing his cross in here. I give the guy a matching sneer before heading toward the direction he had indicated. I put on a show, walking slowly with my head held high. I feel Snow stumbling behind me as usual, tripping over my feet as well as his own. 

 There's a doorway on the back wall but it's far too dark for Snow to see. He's staying as close to me as he possibly can, clearly lost and scared out of his wits. He has no reason to be. I'm sure they can all sense his magic and I'm even more sure plenty of them know who he is, The Mage's Heir. After we pass through the doorway and down a long staircase we come to an open, cavernous room. I stand statue still, aware of Snow's eyes boring into me. I try to keep my face neutral as I scan around, looking for a face that looks anything like the one in the photos. But nothing stands out. All the faces are ashen and grey, almost decaying. I'm once again struck by the fear that this will become me one day if Snow doesn't kill me first, but I quickly move it out of my head. 

 I make up my mind and start walking, still slowly and confidently. Down here they glance at us, but they don't stare. I walk for a little while, scanning faces, but still no one looks familiar. Snow starts to let his magic pour out of him; I'm not sure if he does it on purpose or not. Finally I get frustrated and stop, pulling the sleeve of a man on my left. He looks down at me and I quirk my eyebrow saying, "Nicodemus." He nods his head, similar to the man before, at a far off set of pool tables, so I walk toward them. 

 And then I see him.

 Just like in the photos. That same cocky smirk.

 So I do what I know any sane person (well, vampire) would never dare do. Because I have no regard for personal safety. I do what I have to. I pull out my box of fags and I drag one slowly to my lips, refusing to look at him. But he looks at me- he doesn't think I'm gonna light it- but I do. Everyone else jumps at least three feet back. I inhale, slower than I walk. I still don't look at him.

 I'm still aware of Snow's eyes on me. They burn bigger holes in me than this cigarette ever could.

 "Nicodemus," I say.

 "Well... look at you." His voice is rough, greedy. "Aren't you living the dream."

 I inhale one more time, dragging it out so much even I start to get impatient, before I finally look him in the eyes.

 I almost attack him, right then and there. Almost.

 "My name is Tyrannus Basilton Pitch. And I’m here to talk to you about my mother."

 "Of course you are, Mr. Pitch. Of course you are."

 He smiles, and he's ugly. Not in the way that Ebb is. I've seen her, and she's old. Definitely not attractive. But she still has an aura around her, where you can tell she used to be beautiful (not that I would ever admit that to Snow). Not Nicodemus. He's ugly, from the inside out. You can see it on him, not just from the gap teeth and the cheap suit, but from the way he holds himself, the way he talks, the way he looks at you like he's a snake and you're a mouse.

 (I wonder if this is how Snow sees me).

 "What do you want from me?" He hisses. 

 He must know. I don't have time for this. "I want to know who killed my mother," I growl. I feel Snow's magic behind me, accentuating my own anger.

 "You know who killed her. Everyone knows. And everyone knows what your mother did to them who were there."

 I want to scream that he can't talk like he knows her, like he understands. But I have to keep my composure, I have to get answers. "Tell me the rest," I say after another inhale. "Tell me who was responsible."

 Nicodemus laughs as though unaffected, but I can see him warily checking out my still lit cigarette. "Or what? Are you going to bite me?" He pauses. "Am I supposed to think you’re your mother’s son? Going to set us all alight? You haven’t killed yourself yet, Mr. Pitch. I don’t think you’ll choose today.”

He's right. I'm weaker than her. But I'm not weaker than him, and he knows it. I look around, but everyone's eyes are facing away from us like they know we're talking about something important. I could kill him, right now, right here. But I won't. Not until I get answers.

 Before I can think of where to go from here, Snow jumps in. "Tell him the rest, or I'll kill you," he growls. He sounds more threatening than he ever has toward me when we fought. 

 Nicodemus glances at Simon behind me and his face contorts even more. If I wanted to kill him before, it's nothing now. "You think you're so invincible, with all your power," he says to him. "Like nothing can beat you."

 "Nothing has yet," Snow answers boldly. For someone who was doe-eyed just minutes ago, he sounds like he has authority. Even I'm impressed by him.

Nicodemus laughs again, but I can smell the fear on him, and whatever Snow did worked. "Fine, I'll tell you," he says. "Some of it. Vampires can’t just walk into Watford. We can’t go anywhere uninvited. Except home. Someone came to me—a few weeks before the raid—wanting me to broker a deal. That’s what I do to get by. Make deals, introduce people. Not a lot of work out there for a vampire who can’t bite nor a magician without a wand."

 My blood broils. He knows who it was. I mean, I knew he knew, but he just admitted it. Out loud. He has to tell me. He _has_ to.

"The pay was good," he continues. "But I said no. My sister lives at Watford. I’d never send death to her door, not unless she wanted it. I wonder if you were part of the plan, Mr. Pitch. Hard to believe the magicians have allowed it.… Why do they keep allowing it? What are they hoping to do with you?” He's facing me again, and he looks even nastier than he did before. My jaw clenches. 

 "Who was it? Who came to you?" I demand. "Was it the Humdrum?"

 "The Humdrum?" He snorts. "Yeah, it was the bogeyman, Mr. Pitch. It was the monster under your bed."

 "Was it. The Humdrum."

 He grins so wide I think I might finally explode. "It was one of you," he finally admits. "But his name isn't worth my life. Maybe you’ll kill me if I don’t tell—but I’ll die for certain if I do."

I let my wand slip down into my hand, cocking it in his direction. I'm done playing games. I want answers. "I could make you tell," I warn him.

"That would be illegal. And dangerous," he says. Snow is tensing behind me, but I don't care anymore. If Nicodemus knows, he's telling me. And we're not leaving until he does. 

"What would the Coven do if you cast a forbidden spell, Tyrannus Basilton?" He says, smirking. "Do you think they would be forgiving of one such as you?"

I can't control my anger anymore; I can only try to contain it. "I should kill you right here. I don't think anyone would stop me. Or miss you."

I feel Snow's hand on my shoulder, burning as usual. "Let's go," he says quietly.

Maybe he knows that I would really do it if we stay.

"He hasn't told us anything," I say, unwilling to walk away this easily.

"I've told you enough," Nicodemus says. 

Snow pulls me a little this time. "Come on," he insists. 

"Yeah, go now. Go with you mate. You'll find your way back here someday," Nicodemus says, echoing my own fears. 

I sneer and throw my cigarette on the table. I hope it catches fire. I hope he dies. I hope we all die (except Simon. He'd be okay, somehow).

I don't look back to see his reaction, turning and walking away. I hear Snow tell him that Ebb misses him before scrambling after me and I clench my fists. How could anyone miss a monster like that?

Like me?

Why does my mom want me to avenge her death when she wouldn't even want me alive? When she would've taken me down if she could have? 

I wait for Snow at the top of the stairs, reluctantly. I want to get out of here. And I never want to come here again. I suddenly feel like I'm suffocating. 

I stride straight through the next room, not looking at anyone. 

I've been afraid of a lot in my life. More than I care to admit. I've been taught not to show it, and I don't. But nothing has terrified me like this before. The thought of this becoming my life, becoming one of these grey, swallow men. Failing to avenge my mother's death, and instead sitting and drinking gin in this ashen bar. Snow looking at me like I look at Nicodemus, my mother visiting me in twenty years and seeing what a horrible, useless person I became. 

I just don't think I can do it. 

Snow doesn't say anything when I jerk out of the parking lot and down the street. I want to scream at the taxi in front of me, driving at what feels like a snail's pace, but I don't want to lose my cool in front of him. I'm trying to keep it together. So I just pull into the next lane, where I get stuck behind another car.

"Hey," he says softly, as if this is negotiable. 

"Shut up, Snow," I snap at him.

"Look-"

"Shut up!" I say, accidentally letting my magic seep into my voice. I feel bad. It's not his fault that he was right. It's not his fault that I'm a monster, or that my mom would rather be dead than be like me. It's not his fault Nicodemus wouldn't give us the information. None of this is his fault. But he's here, and if he keeps talking to me like this I might just lose it for real.

I let my anger get the best of me, and I grab my wand, casting  **Make way for the king!** I'm not even sure where I'm going yet. I'm definitely not going home right now. I just want to get away from everything and from everyone. Even Simon. I cast it again .

“You’re gonna keel over before we get out of the West End," Snow says.

I ignore him, because I'm out of patience and I'm too upset to reason. I hate myself. I hate everything I'm doing. 

And even though he's sitting right next to me, right now I'm completely alone. 

But before I can cast it again, I feel something. I feel Simon's magic before I even feel his hand on my arm. I say the spell one more time and this time, not just one car moves out of the way. The whole road parts, and the red light turns to green. 

I put my foot on the gas and push all the way down. 

It doesn't make me feel any better. 

It makes me feel worse because I don't think  _ anything _ will ever make me feel better again. I think that this is the end. I know it is. Tears start to fall from my eyes before I can stop them. I ignore it, refusing to wipe them away. Snow's hand stays strong on my arm, reminding me of one more thing I'll never have. He doesn't let go until we get to country roads and there's no cars anywhere to stop me from going as fast as I want.

And I know where I'm going now. 

I wait until I'm at a spot I recognize (a place Snow could make his way back from, hopefully) and I abruptly turn the wheel, pulling into the ditch. I don't bother to wait for Snow because he doesn't need to be here for this. He'll figure it out. I jump out of the car and march toward the woods. 

"Baz!" I hear behind me. A pause, and then, "Baz!"

I ignore him again as I start casting fire spells around me. I hear him shout my name again. "Fuck off, Snow!" I yell. Maybe he'll just leave. I left the keys in the car, he could just take off. Tell everyone he finally took me down. It would be the best thing for everyone.

But he's still coming toward me. "Baz?" I hear yet again, but this one comes out more unsure than the others. 

I throw my fire on the other side, hoping it will deter him, but no such luck. “What are you doing? Put it out,” he says. He sounds sincere. He probably is. Snow is always sincere. But it’s not enough, it will never be enough. I’ll never be enough. I don’t think I ever was. And finding my mother’s killer won’t change that.

“Baz, it’s alright,” he continues, desperation in his voice. “ We’ll just get the name from someone else. This isn’t over. We’re going to do what your mother asked us to.”

_ Us _ . She didn’t ask us to do anything; she asked me to do it. Only because she didn’t know what I was. What I am.

I can’t help myself anymore. I scream and spit out more fire, close to me but on the opposite side of Simon. “This is what my mother would want for me, you idiot!”

Theatrical as ever, he drops onto his knees. “What are you even talking about?” He says. He’s shouting now.

I bare my fangs at him, wishing he would stop acting like he cares. “My mother died killing vampires. And when they bit her, she killed herself. It’s the last thing she did. If she knew what I am … She would never have let me live.” My throat is catching, but I ignore it.

“That’s not true. She loved you,” Snow insists. As if he knows what my mother thinks just because she visited him once. On accident. “She called you her ‘rosebud boy.’”

“She loved what I was!” I yelled. I don’t know if I’m crying or if it’s sweat on my cheeks. “I’m not that boy anymore. I’m one of them.”

“You’re not.”

“Haven’t you been trying to prove I’m a monster since we were kids? Crowley, you have your proof now. Go tell the Mage—tell everyone you were right! I’m a vampire, Snow! Are you happy?”

“You’re not,” Snow says, and his voice cracks. He’s crying now, tears streaming down his cheeks and his nose running. He’s as big of a mess when it comes to crying as everything else. This might be the most shocking that’s happened all day. Why does he care so much? Why won’t he just leave me alone?

“What?” I say.

“You’ve never bitten anyone,” he answers. Tears and ash stain his cheeks. 

“Fuck. Off.” 

“No!” He insists. 

I can’t look at him anymore. I let my head fall, feeling pathetic. “Seriously. Go,” I say, wishing I could steady my voice. “This fire isn’t for you.”

He grabs my wrists while I’m not looking, and for once I don’t stop him. If this is it, I can pretend for the last few minutes that he cares about me (or wants me, even). Someone does. Even if my mother wouldn’t have.

“That’s right, it can’t be,” Snow rambles, his voice as uneven as mine. “You always said you’d make sure there was an audience when you finished me off. Come on.” He pulls on my wrist, but I don’t budge. I lean toward him, my head falling down so I don’t have to look at him.

He grabs my chin, pulling it up. My heart is beating so fast and I’m not sure if it’s the fire or Snow’s face being so close to mine or if it’s leftover anger. It’s everything. It’s fear. 

“Baz,” Simon says.

“Go away, Snow.” I want this to last forever. But more than that, I want this to finally be over. I want everything to be over.

He shakes his head, his hand still holding my chin. “You’re not a monster. I was wrong. All those years. You’re a bully. And a snob. And a complete arsehole. But you’re not one of them.”

I try to pull back, but I’m weak right now, and he’s strong. He’s always been stronger than me, even though I never let him see it. He growls at the fire that’s starting to close in on us, pushing it back without even trying. I feel my eyes widen before my gaze drifts back to Snow’s face.

“This is what I deserve,” I tell him. 

He looks more serious than I’ve ever seen him. “Well, it isn’t what I deserve,” he says.

“Then go,” I say again. My stomach twists in on itself. 

“I won’t. I’ve never turned my back on you. And I’m not starting now.” 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I hope you're enjoying this so far. I forgot how fun to write it is. I was kinda iffy on whether I should bother to write chapter 61 just because it switches back and forth so much so I think I'll just skip that one. Anyway thank you all and I love you guys!!


	18. Snowball Rewrites Pt. 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter switches back and forth between point's of view

Chapter 62

Originally from: Snow’s POV

Written in: Baz’s POV

I don’t know how long we’ve been here since the fire went out. How long we’ve been kissing. But I don’t care, anyway.

Everyone once in a while, Snow pulls back slightly, then his lips are back on mine. I wouldn’t pull away for a second if it was up to me.

But I knew it was too good to be true; my mind keeps wandering. It goes back and forth from  _ oh my god I’m kissing Snow _ , to  _ oh my god I’m going to bite Snow.  _ They’re almost equally terrifying.

I’m distracted back to the present when his hand slips through my hair, pulling it a little. I feel his tongue hot in my mouth. Suddenly I’m aware that if I wait any longer my fangs will pop. I don’t want to stop but I have to, so I kiss him harshly one more time before I pull back.

“Sorry,” Snow says, his cheeks red. He’s practically panting. (I did that to him).

I put my head in my hands again. It’s laughable that Snow thinks he has to apologize for this, for any of this. I mean, other than the whole snogging thing, he did save my life, in a way. “No. It’s...” I said, peeking back up at him. “Where’s your cross?” If I had more blood in me, I’d be blushing.

He feels for it for a second before he finds it. He picks it up, dangling it in his fingers. I think about those hands in my hair and shiver.

“Put it back on,” I say reluctantly.

“Why? Are you gonna bite me?” He says. But he doesn’t even look worried, practically grinning as he says it.

“No. Have I ever bitten you?”

“No. You’ve never kissed me before either.” Now he is grinning.

I raise an eyebrow at him. “You kissed me, Snow,” I point out.

“So?” He says, shrugging. “Are you going to bite me?”

I stand up, shaking my head again. He’s such an idiot. “No… I’d rather just think about it less. I need to drink. It’s been too long.” I look at him, and his eyes are curious. He’s actually smiling at me now, his head cocked to one side. I have to look away. “ Look, I have to … hunt. Will you wait?”

“I’ll go with you,” he says.

Idiot.

“Crowley, you will not,” I answer.

Before I know it he’s standing up and stepping closer to me. “Can it be anything?” He asks.

“What?”

He grabs my hand. I’m tempted to pull away from him, out of habit, but I let him hold it. “Call something,” he says. “There must be hunting spells.”

“There are, but they only work at close range,” I explain. I look away. I can’t believe I’m even having this conversation with him.

He squeezes my hand, ignoring me. I want to roll my eyes, or tell him that this is the dumbest plan in the universe. But he’s been kissing me for who knows how long and I don’t think I’m even capable right now. So I cast the spell instead. Snow’s magic flows through me in a way I’m not getting used to at all.

I hear the doe before it even steps into the clearing. It’s bigger than the ones even from the woods at my house. I’m almost as amazed as I was the day the dragon attacked the school. “You have to stop doing that,” I tell him, wishing I could sound less in love than I do.

“What?” He says, hand still gripping mine.

“Godlike displays of magic.”

“Why? It’s cool,” he insists.

I back toward the deer, not wanting to leave Snow but knowing that the magic might fade and the deer could run away. “Don’t watch,” I say, because his eyes are following me as I retreat.

He’s smiling wider than before.

“Don’t watch.”

Originally from: Baz’s POV

Written in: Simon’s POV

Baz disappears for what feels like half an hour but is probably just five minutes.

“It’s me, Snow,” I finally hear. His voice is softer than usual, matching the quiet of the night around us.

I frown. “You called me Simon before.”

He lights a fire in his hand. I really wish he wouldn’t do that, especially after the night we just had. Fire didn’t feel like my friend right now. I see that his face is flushed. “No, I didn’t,” he lies.

“You did,” I argue.

I can tell he feels awkward. His shoulders are raised and tense and he looks significantly less confident than usual, despite his good posture and neutral expression. “Let’s get back to the car,” he says, changing the subject. “The neighbours are already going to think we had some sort of dark ritual here.”

He gets up, dusting off his pants and walking close behind me, just like he had earlier that night in the vampire bar (Could you call it that? A bar?). “I’m not sure we didn’t,” he says. He doesn’t sound like he’s joking.

I hand the keys back to Baz when we get to the car. He seems surprised that I grabbed them, but he doesn’t say anything. In fact, he doesn’t say anything at first. I’m glad he doesn't. I’m lost in my own head. I’m haven't been thinking about what this means. I’ve just been thinking about everything. Agatha and Penny, and the boys at my foster care, and the Mage.

As usual, though, it all comes back to Baz.

But I don’t think about what that means.

I wanna take his hand. But instead, I say, “You’re a vampire.” Because it’s something that I’ve been trying to confirm for years, but now that I have, it seems pretty anti-climatic. At least, compared to everything else. “You really are.”

He starts the car. I’m shocked it’s even in one piece after he tore it off the road like that. “I mean, I knew it- I’ve known for years,” I continue when he doesn’t answer me. “But you really are.” I touch his cheeks, which are still red. “You’re warmer now.”

“It’s the blood,” he says.

I say the first thing that pops into my head. “Would you be heavier? If I lifted you?”

“I imagine. I just emptied a deer.” He looks at me, his face impossible to read. “Don’t try.”

I can’t believe he’s talking about this so openly. I like it. It should be scary, but actually it’s less scary than when I only  _ thought _ he was a vampire. Back then, he was just sneaking around and being creepy. Now we’re talking about it like we’re discussing what’s for lunch tomorrow. I feel calmer than I have all day.

“How does it work?” I ask him.

“I don’t know…” He trails off. I realize he’s probably never talked about this before, with anyone. I almost reach for his hand again. I wonder if he’d let me.  “Magic, blood magic. Virus, magickal virus. I don’t know.”

“How often do you have to drink?”

“Every night, to feel good. Every few nights, to stay sane.” For once, he doesn’t sound like he’s reciting a textbook about the subject.

“Have you ever bitten anyone?”

“No.” His voice tightens. “I’m not a murderer.”

“Does it have to be fatal every time? The biting? Couldn’t you just drink some of a person’s blood, then walk away?”

“I can’t believe you’re asking me this, Snow. You, who can’t walk away from half a sandwich.”

“So you don’t know?”

“I’ve never tried. I’m not…” He trails off, obviously frustrated. “That. My father would kill me if I touched a person.” His face scrunches up like he’s smelt something bad.

I feel bad that I led the conversation back to something that would upset him. I’m not sure how fragile he still is. “Hey. Don’t.” I say.

“What?” He glances over at me before looking back at the road.

“Think. Whatever you’re thinking. Stop.”

He sighs, sounding more angry than defeated. “What doesn’t this all bother you?” He says.

“What?”

“I’m a vampire,” he states, as if it’s a big new fact and not something I’ve known for years.

“Well, it used to bother me, back when I thought you were going to drain me dry some night- or turn me into a zombie. But the last few days have been properly education, haven’t they?”

“So now that you know I’m a vampire, for certain, you don’t care?”

“Now that I know that you just sneak around, drinking household pets and legal game, yeah, I’m not too bothered. It’s not like I’m a militant vegetarian.” Actually, I’ve considered it before. But Watford makes  _ excellent _ roast beef.

“And you still don’t believe that I’m dead.”

I roll my eyes and shake my head, making a big show out of it so Baz would notice even though he was driving. “I do not believe that you’re dead.” I might kiss boys now, but I definitely don’t kiss any dead guys.

He finally turns into his driveway, pausing for a moment and then picking up with, “Sunlight burns me.”

“Me, too,” I point out.

“You’re an idiot, Snow.”

“You called me Simon before.”

“No, I didn’t.”

But he’s smiling, a little.

Originally from: Simon’s POV

Written in: Baz’s POV

I park the car and usher Snow into the house, shushing him so he doesn’t wake anyone up. The house was pretty big but my father’s bedroom is right next to the kitchen, where we entered. “Are you hungry?” I mumble to Simon.

“Yeah,” he answers, unsurprisingly. I don’t know why I even bothered asking.

I find a dish of Shepherd’s Pie from a few days ago and hand it to Simon. I can see the excitement on his face and I hide my grin while I go grab silverware and napkins. “Milk? Coke?” I ask him.

“Milk,” he answers, and when I shove the carton on top of the casserole, I see he’s grinning wider than I am. Like a madman.

I take the lead as usual as we head toward my bedroom. My head is swimming but I have no idea what I’m thinking. I concentrate on his stumbling footsteps behind me.

I turn on the light when we get to my room and sit on the ground at the end of my bed, like I used to as a kid when I got put in time out. It seems like something Snow would do. Maybe that’s why I do it.

I take the dish from Snow when he sits next to me and cast “ **You’re getting warmer!** ” I feel nervous, but I know how to hide it. I’ve had more than my share fair of practice.

“Do you need to eat? Or do you just like it?” Snow asks me, his eyes droopy.

“I need it, just not as much as other people do,” I say, staring at my food as I eat it. I can’t look at his face right now. He’s practically glowing.

“How do you know you’re not immortal?” He pushes.

“No more questions,” I answer, handing him his fork. He takes it eagerly, scooting closer to me to scoop the shepherd’s pie right out of the dish on my lap. Our shoulders brush while we eat in silence. He chugs the milk, offering me some. I shake my head, still avoiding his eyes.

When we’re done, I point my wand at the fireplace and start a fire. I’m not cold but the sound and look of it is comforting. “You’re a pyro,” Snow says accusingly.

I shrug, staring at the fire. It doesn’t burn half as bright as he does.

“You’re not thinking about burning the house down, are you?” Snow asks.

“No, Snow. I don’t have a death wish. I wish I did- it would make everything easier.”

“Please stop talking like that,” he says. It comes out more like a demand than an attempt to soothe me. I wonder why he cares, for the millionth time. I wonder  _ if _ he does.

I finally turn to him to see him already looking at me. “Is that why you kissed me?” I asked him. “To keep me from killing myself?”

He shakes his head. I can’t tell if I’m relieved or still nervous. “Not exactly. I mean, I did want to keep you from killing yourself.”

“Why, then?” I asked. I try to keep the desperation out of my voice. I try to keep the hope out, too.

“Why did I kiss you?”

“Yeah.”

“I guess I wanted to,” he says, shrugging. As if this wasn’t a huge, life changing decision. Like if this leads to nothing, I won’t be devastated, and if it does, our lives won’t become unchangeably complicated.

“Since when?” I manage.

He shrugs again. I can’t believe how lightly he’s taking this.

“Did you want me to?” He says.

“No,” I lie, because I’m Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch. I don’t get what I want. Ever. “Why would I want that? Why would that thought even occur to me? ‘Hey, you know what would fix this miserable situation with the vampires and my mother and the war and the decline of magic? Snogging my halfwit roommate. The one who will probably fuck my life for good someday. That’s a plan.”

“You don’t have to be such a prat. We’re on the same side here,” he says. I know he isn’t angry or frustrated because his magic hasn’t bubbled to the surface yet.

“For the moment,” I say, looking at the floor unhappily. “You’ll help me find out who killed my mother, I’ll kill whoever it is, and then you’ll make sure I get thrown in a tower for it. You’ve already won—as soon as you tell the Mage I’m a vampire, he’ll pull out my fangs and snap my wand. I’ll end up in Covent Garden, licking Nicodemus’s heels. And that’s if I’m lucky.”

I hate to be the one to bring up the reality of the situation, but we aren’t the only two people on Earth. Sometime we’re gonna have to leave this mansion, and this will all be over. Whatever it is. If it even is anything.

“Those vampires were in awe of you. They wanted to put a crown on your head,” Simon says. His thumbs are twiddling unconsciously.

“Are you suggesting I cross over?” I say, glancing at him from the side.

“No,” he says, his voice growing impatient. “I’m just saying, you were amazing today.”

“Because we’re friends now?” I say sarcastically. I doubt we’re ever going to be friends.

“Because we’re more than that.”

I pick up a poker, trying to look nonchalant as I mess with the fire. Pretending that my heart isn’t literally about to burst out of my chest. I’m sure he doesn’t know what he’s doing to me. He doesn’t know that I’ve imagined him saying those words a hundred million times, a hundred million different ways.

“One kiss, and you think the world is upside down,” I say dryly.

But he must be able to see past it, because he says “Two kisses.”

He grabs me by the back of the neck, and that’s all it takes.

Originally from: Baz’s POV

Written in: Simon’s POV

I’m lying next to Baz, holding his hand. Not something I’d ever imagined myself doing, but I’m content. More content than I’ve been since fifth year.

At this point I’m not sure if Baz is asleep. His eyes are closed. I sigh and he doesn’t say anything so I squeeze his hand a little. He lets out a small yap. I glance over at him to see a look of pain on his face. I feel my face fall as I hold his hand up and look at it. There’s a patch of red tainted skin in the shape of a cross in the middle of his palm. I can’t help but feel like it’s my fault. I kiss the small burn softly, glad I wasn’t wearing the necklace now.

“I didn’t think you were gay,” Baz whispers.

I shrug again, even though I know he’s getting annoyed with it.

“What does that mean?” He says. I wonder if a moment like this will ever pass again.

“I don’t know. I guess I’ve never thought much about what I am. I’ve got a lot on my plate.” My eyes are starting to hurt now. I can’t keep them open.

I’m thrown off when he starts to laugh. It’s short, almost sarcastic, but it sounds genuine. I keep my eyes closed but I can’t help laughing a little, too. “A lot on your plate?” Baz says skeptically.

I finally open my eyes, looking over at him. I’m still laughing. I’m definitely overtired. “Are you gay?” I ask him. I don’t want to pry but I want to get as much information out of him while he’s like this; totally unguarded.

“Yeah. Completely,” he admits.

“So you do this all the time?” I ask. I remember what Penny said, about gay people having an unfair advantage. The irony makes me grin.

“No,” he answers, rolling his eyes.

“Then how do you know you’re gay?” I ask.

“I just do. How do you not know?”

“Dunno,” I say, refraining from shrugging again. Instead I pick up his hand again, making sure I didn’t squeeze tight enough to hurt him again. “I try not to think.”

Except about Baz, I guess. Looking back, I spend a lot of time thinking about Baz.

“About being gay?” He asks. I can practically hear the raised eyebrows in his voice.

“About anything,” I say. I struggle to keep my eyes open. “I make a list of things not to think about.”

“Why?”

“Because it hurts to think about things that you can’t have or help,” I explain. “S’better not to think about it.”

I shiver at the feeling of his thumb rubbing back and forth on my hand. I move my head closer to his. “Am I on your list?” He asks. He makes it sound like a joke but his voice is soft.

“Fat chance. Trying not to think about you… S’like trying not to think about an elephant that’s standing on my chest.”

“I can’t decide whether that’s a compliment…” He trails off. He definitely sounds like he thinks it’s a compliment.

“Me neither,” I agree. But I think it is.

“So you don’t think.”

“S’pointless.”

He gets up, propping himself on an elbow. His face hangs over mine, his hair falling messily. I love it like this. I wanna reach up and pull it. “I don’t understand you,” he says slowly. “You’re the most powerful magician alive- who’s ever lived, probably. You can have anything you want. How is it pointless for you to think about that?”

I push myself up on both elbows so I’m at his level and I turn my face toward his. “ “Because it doesn’t matter. In the end, I just do what’s expected of me. When the Humdrum comes after me, I fight him. When he sends dragons, I kill them. When you trick me into meeting a chimera, I go off. I don’t get to choose or plan. I just take it as it comes. And someday, something will catch me unawares or be too big to fight, but I’ll fight anyway. I’ll fight until I can’t anymore—what is there to think about?”

I drop back onto the floor, hoping I don’t sound too dramatic. I remember what Baz said before, that everyone is just background characters in the Simon Snow show. It upsets me more now than when he first said it.

But he runs his fingers through my curls and I forget what I was upset about in the first place. It feels so good. My eyes fall shut again.

“I always thought you were going to kill me,” he mumbles.

“Me too. I tried not to think about it.”

He kisses my cheek, right where the mole I’ve always hated is. It has to be in the middle of my face, the most prominent place it could possibly be. But I don’t mind so much right now. I forget what we were even talking about before and I just let myself feel good. For this one moment.

“For a long time,” Baz says.

“Hmmm?” I open one eye to look at his face. His cheeks are even redder than before.

“I’ve wanted to do this for a long time,” he elaborates. “Almost since we met…”

I close my eyes and try not to grin like an idiot. But yeah. This is a pretty good moment. I wish it could just be like, forever. We could be normal teenagers, who met in high school and constantly annoyed each other until we realized it was because we secretly liked each other. And we could date, and the biggest issue would be telling our parents instead of an entire war that was depending on us.

“I thought it was going to kill me,” Baz says.

Me, too.


	19. Carry On Snowbaz Rewrites Pt. 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 64
> 
> Originally from: Baz's POV
> 
> Written in: Snow's POV

I open my eyes slowly to find myself on Baz’s couch. I know where I am right away but I’m surprised at first to find him so close to me. It only takes a few moments for the memories to hit me before I roll over lazily and bury my head into the cushions, not wanting him to see my grin. “You don’t get to watch me sleep now, just because we’re snogging,” I joke.

“Just because we snogged,” he said, his voice hard as ever. I had a feeling the good vibe from last night wouldn't be a regular thing. “And I’m not watching you; I’m trying to figure out how to wake you up without you pulling a sword on me.”

“I’m up,” I say, contradicting myself by pushing my face farther under the cushions.

“Come on. Bunce is on her way,” he informs me.

I finally bother to look up at him, thinking I must’ve heard him wrong. Or maybe that was a bad attempt at a joke. “What? Why?”

“I told her we have some new information- she has some too. We’re having a briefing.”

“So she’s just coming here?” I ask, finally bothering to sit up for real.

“Yes,” he says casually.

“To your Gothic mansion?”

“It’s not Gothic; It’s Victorian,” he answers.

“Is this a trap?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at him. “Are you luring us all here to kill us?”

“How did I lure you? You hitchhiked to my door,” He says, sounding offended.

“After you invited me,” I point out.

“Yes. You caught me. I’m a villain.” He stands up, frowning down at me. “I’ll see you in the library when you’ve cleaned up.” He practically stomps out the door after that.

Wow. I definitely screwed that one up.

Obviously I don’t think he’s gonna light us up. I mean, he said he’s wanted to kiss me for a long time. He said it was going to kill him. And as far as I can tell he kind of likes Penelope as a person. But I don’t understand why he would invite her here, so suddenly, like this. Without even asking me first. It worries me. It’s not like I can totally trust him all of a sudden or something.

But I think I want to. And I could. But I just need to understand his intentions.

I finally get up, yawning. I pat my hair into place and change into a pair of jeans and a jumper Baz left on top of his dresser. I step out into the hallway, not certain I was going the right way toward the library but thinking as hard as I could. I figured I was probably going the right way when I passed Mordelia, who stomped past me without looking, a furious scowl on her face.

I finally recognize the large door with intricate engravings on it. When I step inside, his back is turned away from me, and he’s writing on a whiteboard. I smile. He doesn’t turn around, and my grin fades. “It’s not that I think you’ll betray us,” I tell him.

He makes a sound of disbelief, just like the ones he makes when teachers call him out during class. I step toward him.

“It’s just…” I tug at my curls, frustrated that I can never put what I’m thinking into words. “Well, it’s still weird between us, isn’t it?”

He keeps drawing a straight line between the columns on the board. His hand is steadier than mine ever has been.

“I mean… you haven’t said… that things are different now for you. I’ve said that I’m not going to kill you.”

“No, you haven’t.”

I suppress a sound of annoyance. “It must have been implied,” I insist.

“No.”

“Um, all right.” I pause, clearing my throat. His face remains the same. “Baz. I’m not going to kill you. I’m not going to fight you at all, am I?”

“Good. That will make things much easier.” He steps back, but instead of looking at me, he looks at the whiteboard.

“What things?” I ask.

“Crowley, I don’t know. Whatever the families cook up for me. Probably I’ll be the one they ask to poison your Ribena, now that you trust me. What I can promise, Snow, is to weep over your corpse.”

I really, really, wish he’d call me Simon.

“Or not,” I say.

“Fine, I’ll weep in privacy when the day comes.”

“No, I’m serious,” I say, my voice sounding whinier than I want it to. “Or not.”

He finally looks back at me. “What are you trying to say?” He asks, his face as unreadable as ever.

“That we don’t have to fight.”

“You realize your mentor has raided my house twice this month,” he says, unwavering.

“Yeah- I mean no- I didn’t realize that, but the point is, I didn’t raid your house.” I move closer to him again, and he doesn’t react, but he doesn’t retreat either, which is a good sign. “What if I help you find who killed your mum, then you help me fight the Humdrum, and we just forget about the rest?”

He finally turns to face me, but his stance is tense and unwelcoming. “The rest. Way to oversimplify a decade of corruption and abuse of power.”

“Are you talking about the Mage?” I ask, my stomach starting to hurt. I hate this. I want last night back.

“Yes.”

“I wish you wouldn’t,” I say, glancing at the floor.

“How can I not talk about the Mage when I’m talking to the Mage’s Heir?” He questions, raising an eyebrow.

My head starts to spin but I ignore it, focusing on keeping my magic down. I don’t want him to know how much what he’s saying is hurting me. I don’t want him to know how much I care, because now it seems like he doesn’t at all. “Is that how you think of me?” I ask.

“Isn’t that how you think of yourself?” He fires back at me. “Oh, right. I forgot- you don’t think at all.”

I let out a whiny nose, pulling at my hair. “Jesus Christ. Do you ever not go for the lowest blow? Like, do you ever think, ‘Maybe I shouldn’t say the most cruel thing just now?’”

“I’m trying to be efficient.”

I lean backward, next to the whiteboard so I can make sure I’m in his line of vision. “It’s vicious,” I tell him.

“You should talk, Snow. You always go for the kill shot.”

“When I’m fighting. We’re not fighting.” I hope that if I keep repeating this, maybe Baz will start to believe me.

“We’re always fighting,” he says.

He starts writing on the board again. I hate that I have to compete with this stupid thing for his attention. Granted, it is something important. But how can we focus on the case if we haven’t resolved this stupid thing first? I resist the urge to reach out to him, instead leaning into him a little. “Or not,” I say.

He doesn’t look at me. He erases the word that I accidentally messed up by bumping his arm and rewrites it. He’s not running into my arms, but he’s not fighting me anymore either. I take it as a good sign and keep talking.

“I’ll help you find out who killed your mother, and you’ll help me stop the Humdrum- that’s a shared goal, yeah?- and then we’ll worry about the rest later.”

“Is that how you get what you want?” He sneers, but his voice holds less power now. “By just repeating it until it comes true?”

“Isn’t that how you cast a spell?” I point out.

He drops what he was holding and turns to me again, sighing loudly. “Simon-”

“A-a!” I say, jumping and pointing at him, unable to contain my excitement. “You did it again!”

“Did what?” He asks, swatting at my hand like it’s a pesky mosquito.

I don’t hesitate to stick my other pointer finger in my face, even wiggling it a little out of the excitement of catching him in the act. “Called me Simon,” I tell him.

“What would you prefer?” He says, raising an eyebrow cooly. “Chosen one?”

“I prefer Simon, actually. I… I like it.” I must be blushing like an idiot. Crowley, he’s done nothing but insult me and I’m still babbling around him like he’s my Prince Charming.

He swallows noticeably loud and I look down at his neck, like he so often does to me. “Simon,” he says, using the name I prefer. He swallows again, “you’re being idiotic.”

“Because I like this better than fighting?” I ask, exasperated.

“There is no ‘this’!” He says, but he’s nervous. I can see it in his face and hear it in the way he hesitates, however subtle.  

“You slept in my arms,” I point out.

“Fitfully.”

Defeated, my hand falls from where it’s still aimed at his face. But he catches it before it reaches my side. “Simon,” he says softly. I smile tentatively, squeezing, and hoping this means what I think it does. He’s finally giving in.

“It’s not that I don’t prefer this. It’s just…” he pauses, sighing. His grip on my hand tightens. “My family objects to everything the Mage stands for.”

“I know, but I actually think we have bigger problems than that. If we find out who killed your mum, and then we go after the Humdrum together- maybe we can help everyone see that we’re better of uniting, and then-”

“And then the whole world will see how much better it is to work together, and we’ll sing a song about cooperation,” he jabs, interrupting me.

“I was thinking we’d stop cursing each other and locking each other up in towers,” I correct him.

“Potato, potahto.”

I pull at his arm, dragging closer to me, and despite his harsh words he lets me. He falls into me, his breaths coming faster than before. “How can you be like this? How can you trust me, after everything?” His voice comes out hushed even though we’re the only two in the room.

“I’m not sure I do trust you,” I mumble. I reach out and run my fingers along his stomach, feeling his muscles tense under my touch. I smile, shrugging. “But…”

He closes his eyes, his lips turning up slightly as he leans closer to me. I definitely prefer this to fighting.


	20. Carry On Snowbaz Rewrites Pt. 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 65
> 
> Originally from: Snow's POV
> 
> Written in: Baz's POV

All I want to do is kiss Simon one more time. This time, I swear, it will be the last. No matter what the idiot has to say on it. Even if he leans into me with that stupid mouth and his bright eyes and the mole on his cheek…

Right as his lips begin to touch mine, the loud sound of someone clearing their throat interrupts. I’m not sure who jumps away faster, Simon or me. I don’t even look away from his eyes, which are swinging around wildly, “Mr. Pitch. You have guests. Two young ladies.”

“Thank you, Vera. Send them in.” I smooth down my hair and unwrinkle my shirt.

Snow temporarily stops looking skeeved out and ends up looking surprised instead. “Girls? More than one?” He asks, raising his eyebrows at me at the same time as Agatha and Penny step in the door.

“Agatha, welcome,” I say. “Hello, Bunce.”

Snow spins around quicker than I can get Penelope’s last name out of my mouth. If his face was shocked before, it’s nothing compared to now. “What are you doing here?” He asks them, his mouth falling open and staying there as usual.

“Baz called us,” Penny says casually, as if a hang out at my place was a totally normal thing to do.

“What are you doing here?” Agatha shoots back at him.

Before I can answer, Penny starts to explain, saying, “Agatha was staying with me, and she had her car, so-”

“Please come in, Agatha,” I say, interrupting her. “Could I get you both something to drink?”

“I’ll have tea,” Penny says.

“Excellent,” I answer, walking quickly out of the library. The tension in there is weird. I need a second to myself to unwind and think it over. Also, I don’t want to watch Simon look at Agatha anymore. It’s not like he looks at me like that.

I spend a few moments getting the tea and a plate a few fruit, using magic and trying not to linger. I don’t want to seem more suspicious than Simon apparently already thinks I am. I step back into the room to hear the words, “If you can make peace with Baz, you can make peace with Agatha.”

“Temporary peace,” I correct Penny, putting the plate on the nearest table.

“I’ll pour,” Penny offers, clearly trying to relieve some of the tension that has built in the room for the few moments I was away.

“Temporary peace?” Agatha asks. Nobody answers her. She stares at Simon, dumbfounded, while Penny hands her a cup of tea. I look away. “Are you all possessed? I’m not drinking this.”

I turn to Snow. His eyes are already trained on mine. I try not to smile. “Your call, Snow,” I tell him. “Do you trust her?”

“Does he trust me?” Agatha snaps. She sounds furious. My gaze doesn’t leave Simon.

“Of course,” he answers without hesitation, his eyes turning to hers. He pauses for a second, his hands doing that nervous fidgety thing that they do. “Agatha, um-”

Penny interrupts him. “We’re trying to figure out who killed Baz’s mother,” she explains swiftly. I move to the whiteboard, my back facing the three others.

“The Humdrum killed her,” Agatha immediately replied. I roll my eyes.  _ Case closed _ , I want to say sarcastically, but I keep my mouth shut.

Penny raises her teacup in a casual gesture. “Not according to her, he didn’t,” she quips. I grind my teeth a little. I’m starting to thinking maybe  _ I  _ don’t want Agatha to know all this.

I grab the marker and write the word  _ Nicodemus _ . Penny jumps up and comes to my side, asking for details. I ignore the burning sensation I feel when I see Simon sit next to Agatha from the corner of my eye, their shoulders not quite touching but only inches away. I try not to eavesdrop on their conversation as I begin to fill her in on our night… well, most of our night.

“I managed to get Fiona to tell me where to find him, since they were in the same class,” I explain after filling her in on Snow’s information about Nicodemus being Ebb’s long lost vampire brother.

“Excellent!” She says loudly. “Impressive work, as usual. Where was he?”

“We had to walk around the city a bit…” I say vaguely.

“Sounds shady,” she answers, her voice practically quivering with excitement at all the new information.

“It was,” I reply. “Remote location. Really dingy. A club space, everyone was drinking…”

“Simon, listen to yourself- a truce?” I hear from behind me. I grind my teeth.

I’m about to say something else when the new information really hits Penny and she shouts, “You went to a vampire bar! What a splendid pair of morons you are! Did you take photos?”

It must’ve been loud enough to interrupt Simon’s conversation, because he says, “Vampires don’t show up in photos.”

“That’s mirrors, you dolt,” I correct him.

“You can’t see yourself in the mirror?”

I roll my eyes and turn back to Penny. “Eventually, we find Nicodemus,” I say. I pretend not to hear Agatha call me evil.

“What did he tell you?” She asks eagerly. She tries to grab the marker out of my hand, but I pull it away.

“Nothing useful,” I answer. “Nothing worth writing.”

“You mean you found Nicodemus, and you didn’t even find out who killed her?”

I keep my gaze neutral before adding Humdrum to the board, even though it’s useless. It’s just something to do. “No,” I finally answer.

“I’m sorry, Baz,” she says, softly. Then, in her normal voice, she adds, “But what did you manage to get out of him?”

“Someone paid them,” I continue. “Nicodemus was offered, but he refused because of Ebb. He said he’d rather die than tell us who. That they would kill him.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t do the same.”

“If Simon wasn’t there, I might have.”

Her gaze drops, and she changes the subject. “What exactly did he say about whoever hired them?”

“He said it was ‘one of you.’”

“One of you?” She repeats. Simon and Agatha both stop talking and turn to look at us. “What does Nicodemus mean by that? That it was another Mage who let the vampires in? Or one of you Pitches, someone in your family-”

“It wouldn’t have been someone in my family,” I interrupt her before she can finish. Then, just for emphasis, I add, “Never.”

“You relatives are famous betrayers. There was a time in the 1700’s when they weren’t even allowed to sign contracts.” She’s looking at me with a skeptically raised eyebrow.

“Yes, but we never betray each other."

“Simon’s the one who broke it all open, without even opening a book,” I point out. I’m glad I don’t have enough blood in me at this moment to blush.

“Typical,” Penny answers. Simon is gazing at me curiously. My stomach churns and I look away, back at the whiteboard.

“So you’re staying here?” I hear Agatha ask. I want to chime in that it’s not that big of a deal, but I remember how Simon reacted when I first propositioned it. Again, I keep my mouth shut.

“No,” he says. My stomach is really starting to hurt, and I honestly wish I wasn’t here at all. “I just came to tell Baz about Nicodemus, and then I didn’t have a ride home.”

“Who’s Nicodemus again?” Agatha asks, her eyebrows scrunching.

“The person who knows who the traitor is,” Penny says, sounding less than patient. Her and Agatha both look at Simon. “I can’t believe you guys just walked away from him, knowing he has all the answers! If he told you who tried to hire him, we’d be done now.” Her words echo my thoughts almost exactly.

“We couldn’t compel him, and we couldn’t beat it out of him- we were surrounding by vampires,” he explains.

“I guess,” Penny answers, but she still looks skeptical.

“The ethics on you, Bunce,” I say, smirking.

“What did you find out, Penny?” Snow asks her.

“Not much, in comparison. I talked to my dad about the Humdrum. He confirmed that nobody blamed the Humdrum for the Watford Tragedy until years later. They just thought it was another vampire attack. Hey, Agatha, are you caught up yet? Maybe we could talk to your parents- your dad might remember something-”

“I’m not caught up,” Agatha interrupts her. Snow is looking at her, clearly worried. I feel the same way, probably for different reasons.

“Well, catch up. It’s all on the whiteboard,” Penny says, smiling. “I’ve got to say, it’s good to have you back.”

“I’m not sure I am back,” she mumbles, but Penny doesn’t seem to notice.

Penny turns back to the whiteboard, and I follow her, pretending I’m not still listening to their conversation.  

Snow finally pipes in again. “It’s been really good, actually. Working with Baz instead of fighting with him.”

“Is that why you were looking for him? That night on the ramparts? Because of a Visiting?” I tried not to be obvious about how this turn of the conversation interested me, snatching the marker away from Penny so she can’t finish writing the words “Vampire bar”. But my mind is elsewhere. He had told me that he had looked for me, driven himself mad looking for me. I wasn’t sure if I believed him, but here was Agatha, saying the same thing.

“Sort of…” Snow mumbles. Penny grabs the marker back from me. I erase the word before she can fix it.

Agatha and Snow grow silent and I focus on Penny’s questions instead. “I just don’t understand how this all fits,” she rambles, writing the word “Fiona” on the board. I grab the marker again, writing “Memory book”. She looks at me quizzically. I explain to her how I came up with the idea, pausing to explain what a memory book actually is. Then I go to retrieve it, insisting that they all stay in the library so as not to slow me down.

When I finally get back, Penny and Agatha spend a long time looking through the book. They’re being more sentimental than investigative, cooing at the photos and talking about how they wished they had something like this. I roll my eyes, and I notice Snow doing the same. We don’t talk, even when they get to the pictures that are more relevant and Penny, as usual, manages to put two and two together and recognize who’s in the photos.

When my stepmum brings us sandwiches, Penny and I are back at the white board, and this time she’s fully caught up with the story. I’ve given her control of the writing, and instead of adding my own words, I erase words she adds that I think are unnecessary. Her lists can get much longer than needed, in my opinion. As soon as the door opens, she jumps up loudly to cover what we’ve written. I know Daphne isn’t as nosy as my father, and she won’t care what’s going on, so I step casually next to Penny and try to ignore the incredibly guilty look on her face. I brush my arm lightly over her waist, just to sate Daphne’s curiosity by giving her the impression Penny was embarrassed about something entirely different. I’m the only one who notices the smirk she gives me- she’ll probably go back and tell my father. I’m sure that will make him happy.

“Just give up with the stupid white board,” Snow complains. Penny ignores him, jotting down details as we bounce ideas back and forth.

As expected, my father arrives and looks happy as ever, eagerly introducing himself to Agatha and Penny. I don’t even try to hide my annoyance, and he takes his leave with an over enthusiastic wave. Snow looks confused. I can’t blame him. My father is not acting at all the same as he was at Christmas dinner. But I stay silent.

As soon as he leaves, Penny and I compare begin to compare ideas about her father’s research. But she sits down, and I do the same, reluctantly choosing the chair across from Agatha and Simon but avoiding looking at them (and their knees, which knock together lightly every once in awhile). The conversation trails off. We’re not making any real progress, and we all know it.

Penny breaks the silence. “We have to go back to Nicodemus. It’s what Headmistress Grimm-Pitch told us to do.”

“We can’t compel him, and he’s not gonna tell us anything,” I remind her.

“Maybe you guys didn’t ask nicely enough,” she says suggestively. I almost vomit.

“Corking idea, Penelope. We’ll have to seduce him.” I don’t mention how repulsive he is.

Snow doesn’t, either. Instead, he just says, “No.”

Penny lets her gaze drift in a different direction, and she says quietly, “I was thinking Agatha…”

“I’m not even here,” Agatha says, looking freaked out. “When you’re all put on trial before the Coven, I wasn’t here.”

“We haven’t broken any laws,” Snow points out.

“Oh, like that matters,” she shoots back.

“Hear, hear. You know, I’ve always expected to be tried unfairly before the Coven someday, but I never thought I’d be in such good company,” I say, glancing at Snow.

“Nobody’s seducing a vampire,” he answers, looking back at me.

_ You are _ , I bite back. I frown at him instead.  _ A few times now, actually. _

He looks contemplative, then he says, “Unless, we could convince your aunt-”

“No.”

“I don’t know how you’re going to get this vampire to confess to murder, when you can’t even get Baz to tell you where he was for two months,” says Agatha.

“He was ill,” Penny says confidently. I don’t move my face. “Weren’t you?” She asks, turning to me. “You said you were ill. You certainly looked ill.”

“He wasn’t ill,” Agatha says matter-of-factly. “Dev said he was missing.” I can feel Snow’s eyes on me.

“See, I told you we could use Agatha to seduce people,” Penny says.

Snow is looking at me with obvious concern. I wish he wouldn’t look at me like that right now. It’s hard for me to keep my face neutral. It was one thing, all those years when I was under the impression that I never had a chance… but now? How could I keep myself together when he was looking at me like that? “You said you were ill,” he says.

I have to look away. “I was ill,” I say. I pause, covering up my fidgety hands by smoothing out my trousers. My legs were shaking. “But I was also missing.”

“Where were you?” He asks, sitting up straighter.

I finally look at him. His gaze is intense. For a minute, Penny and Agatha aren’t even here. “I really don’t think this is relevant-”

“Everything is relevant,” Penny interrupts.

“I-” I pause, clearing my throat. Not sure how to say this without making it sound as bad as it was. “-was kidnapped.”

Snow immediately sits up totally straight. “Kidnapped?” He repeats.

“Kidnapped.” My breath catches, and I clear my throat again to cover it up. “By numpties.”

“Numpties? Was it an accident? Did they mistake you for a hot water bottle?” Penny asks. Snow keeps looking at me. My hands shake.

“They put a bag over my head while I was leaving the club, actually.”

Now Agatha mirrors Snow, sitting up impossibly rigid. “You were kidnapped at the club?”

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” Snow questions, sounding even more dumbfounded than usual.

“Well, I tried. I guess nobody heard me shouting from inside the coffin.”

He literally drops his sandwich. “The numpties kept you in a coffin? For two months?”

“Six weeks,” I correct him. I stick both my hands in my pockets. “And I think they thought they were doing me a favor, with the coffin…”

Penny leans over and pushes me lightly. “Basil,” she says sternly. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

I sigh. I really don’t want to go into it, not after Snow and I had just fought about this. I don’t want him to leave… “Why didn’t I tell you?” I ask, choosing to give Penny a cold glare instead of looking at Simon while I say it. “Think about it:  Who would pay numpties to kidnap the heir to the House of Pitch? Who has it out for my family right now? Who’s raided my house twice in the last month—who threw my cousin in a tower?”

“Not the Mage,” Snow answers quickly. I knew he would. I grind my teeth. He’s so blind. He always has been.

“Of course the Mage!” I answer, and I lean forward toward him. “He thought he could terrify my parents, so they’d co-operate with his latest campaign. It must drive him mad to see me at school and know I got away from him! Why didn’t I tell you? ‘Hey, Simon, your Jedi master is out to get me, do we still have a truce?”

Snow ignores the overarching problem, as he usually does. “How did you get away?” He asks.

“Fiona found me. She’s fearless.” I don’t mind bragging about Fiona. She’s earned it.

“That’s why you were so thin, and pale. And why you’re still limping.” He sounds like he’s thinking out loud. “Did they hurt you?”

I fall back onto the couch and stare at a loose seam on my trousers. “Not intentionally, I don’t think. They did something to my leg when they caught me, and it didn’t get a chance to heal.”

“You should go see my dad,” Agatha suggests.

“Is he a vampire doctor now?”

“Was there a ransom?” Penny pries.

“Yeah. My family wouldn’t pay it. Pitches don’t negotiate to hostages.”

I practically hear Agatha roll her eyes before she says, “If I’m ever kidnapped at the club, tell my parents to pay the ransom.”

“My aunt found me with a souped-up finding spell,” I explain, ignoring her. “She canvassed most of London.”

“I would have helped,” Snow offers. “It wouldn’t have taken six weeks with me helping.”

I restrain for literally scoffing. “You never would have helped my family,” I point out.

“I would! It was driving me mental not knowing where you were. I thought you were going to jump out from every corner.”

“It wasn’t the Mage…” Penny says, slowly.

I roll my eyes. “This is why I didn’t tell you lot. I knew you wouldn’t believe me. You’re so convinced that the Mage is a hero-”

“No.” She doesn’t let me finish. “It wasn’t the Mage, Baz- it was the murderer!”

“I thought it was the numpties…” Agatha says.

Penny jumps up as she talks, not bothering to explain to Agatha what was going on. “It was the same person who sent the vampires after your mother! They knew that the Veil was lifting, and that there was a good chance your mum would come back to talk to you. It was a classic Visit—a dangerous secret, a crime against justice. The traitor was worried that Natasha Pitch might come back, and knew that she’d come back to you. So he—or she, I guess—hid you. This used to happen all the time! There’s a family in Scotland who lost a different family member every twenty years because the murderer kept killing the person most likely to avenge the previous deaths. No one wanted a ransom for you, Baz—they just wanted you tucked away until the Visitings were over.”

It’s silent for a minute when I process this. “Not the Mage?” I finally ask. Cause… couldn’t the Mage and the murderer be the same person?

“The murderer,” she repeats.

I’m about to bring up my own worries when Agatha says, “If that’s true, then we need to tell the Mage about all of this. Immediately.”


	21. Carry On Snowbaz Rewrites Pt. 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 67

Originally from: Baz’s POV

Written in: Snow’s POV

I wish I could pause the look on Baz’s face when he sees me standing there, for the second time, covered in snow and mud. Just like last time, he looks like he has no idea what to say. But this time around, I can see how much more it means. Because he’s looking at me like I just resurrected from the dead or something.

He recovers quickly, stuffing his hands in his pockets awkwardly. “Deja vu, Snow.” Of course, he looks amazing and polished in the suit he’s wearing. I just wish his hair wasn’t slicked back like that.

“There’s still no good way to get from the road to your house,” I explain. I feel even worse than last time now that he looks so nice. Compared to him I look like a wild animal.

“And you still can’t remember a basic weatherization spell,” he retorts. “Where are the girls?”

“Halfway to London by now?”

“Why aren’t you with them?” He asks. His voice just barely wavers.

I shrug.

He comes a little closer and takes out his wand, pointing it at me. Before he gets a chance to cast the dirt off of me, I hold my hand up to stop him. I feel much too gross for that simple of a fix right now. Plus, I’m freezing, so I could use a hot shower. “I’d prefer to just take a shower and change, if you don’t mind,” I tell him.

He nods. “Why’d you come back?” He asks, practically a whisper.

“I can leave if I’m not welcome.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I thought you’d be happy that I came back,” I say.

He steps closer. His voice stays low, but it takes on a hard edge. “Why?” He asks, sneering a little at me. “So we can tumble around and kiss and pretend to be happy boyfriends?”

I shake my head, tired of pretending that isn’t what I want. I roll my eyes. “Yeah, I guess so…” I admit. “Yes. Let’s do that, okay?”

He folds his arm, ignoring my answer. “Take off your shoes. I’ll find you something to wear. You’ll make us late to dinner.”

***

The suit he gives me is grey. It fits nice, although the arms are just a little big too long. It’s probably more expensive than all the clothes I’ve ever worn put together. I’m gonna have to try not to get any food on this. 

Originally from: Simon’s POV

Written in: Baz’s POV

“Sorry we’re late, mother,” I say as we sit down down to eat.

“What a nice surprise, Mr. Snow,” my dad says, but his smile is fake. So fake that I’m sure even Simon can tell it's not authentic. As usual, he looks mortified at the dinner table. I can tell he’s overwhelmed by all the different silverware. He keeps looking at me to see what fork I’m using next. I try not to smile.

“Thank you, sir,” he says, voice slightly shaking. “I hope I’m not intruding.”

“Of course not,” Daphne says, smiling at him. She means it. I can tell she likes having him around, even if she would never admit it to my father.

“I invited him. It’s not like he has anywhere else to go for Christmas,” I say. It’s not enough to erase the question from my father’s eyes, but his expression is slightly less suspicious than before. “Stuffing?” I say. Snow nods enthusiastically, and the conversation is over.

***

“Did you ever believe in Father Christmas?” I ask him while I set up the couch for him. I’m not sure if he’ll actually sleep on it. I hope he doesn’t.

“I don’t think so,” he answers. “I mean, sometimes the home would get somebody to dress up like Father Christmas and hand out crap gifts, but I don’t remember believing in him. What about you?”

I frown at what he says before answering, telling him how I had believed in him until the year my mother died. I don’t want him to pity me, but I’ve never talked about it before. I’ve never had anyone who would care. “Fiona showed up later that day with a giant stuffed Paddington,” I finish.

“The bear?” He says, raising an eyebrow.

“There’s nothing wrong with Paddington Bear,” I say, handing him his pajamas. He holds them, but doesn’t move to go change. I step onto my bed before continuing. “So…” I say awkwardly. “You came back.”

He sits next to me, still holding the pajamas. He messes with the string on the trousers. “Yeah.”

“We can go talk to the numpties tomorrow,” I say, changing the subject.

“On Christmas day?” He asks. “Do numpties celebrate Christmas?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t really get to know them. According to the books, they don’t do much but eat and try to stay warm.”

“What do numpties eat?”

“Rubble, as far as anyone can tell…” I shake my head a little. “Maybe they just chew on it.”

“Do you think Penny is right? That it was your mother’s murderer who hired the numpties?” He asks.

“It would make sense- and Bunce is usually right,” I admit.

“You sure you could handle going back there?” He says, leaning toward me a little. His eyes are more concerned than I can handle. I’m still not used to it. I look away.

“I’d rather talk to the numpties than go back to Nicodemus,” I point out, “and those are our only two leads.”

“I still wish we had a motive… Why would someone want to hurt your mother?”

“I’m not sure they did want to. What if the target was the nursery, not my mother? There was no way of knowing that she’d be the one who came. Maybe the vampires wanted to take the children- maybe they wanted to Turn us all.”

“I’m not a very good boyfriend,” he says without breaking for a second. Like he’s been waiting to say it.

I tense, because I knew this was coming, but I was hoping it wouldn’t be so soon. That funny feeling churns in my stomach again. I try not to let the disappointment show on my face, but I’m not sure how good of a job I do. “I understand, Snow,” I say, my voice tight. “Trust me. I’m not planning out next mini break- I’m not even going to tell anyone about us.”

“No,” he says, turning toward me. He seems frustrated, like he can’t get the words out. I let him finish. “That’s not what I mean. I mean… I’ve always been a terrible boyfriend. That’s why Agatha broke up with me. I basically just did what I thought she wanted me to, but I always got it wrong, and I never put her first. I never once felt like I was getting it right in three years.”

I have no idea where he’s going with this. “Then why did you stay together?” I ask.

“Well, I wasn’t going to break up with Agatha,” he says, as if it was obvious. “It wasn’t her fault.”

I’m fidgeting. My hands are shaking, and my heart is pounding. I hope he can’t tell. I don’t say anything.

“I’m just saying, that I don’t know how to be your boyfriend. And I don’t think you’d want that from me.”

He’s wrong, of course. I want that more than anything. But I don’t say that. Instead, I say, “Fine. Understood.”

“And I know that you think we’re doomed- Romeo-and-Juliet-style.”

I still can’t look at him. “Completely,” I say.

“And I don’t think I’m gay,” he says. He sounds more like he’s thinking out loud, but he’s totally facing me now, so I know he’s directing this at me. “I mean, maybe I am, at least partly, the part that seems to be demanding the most attention right now…”

“No one cares whether you’re gay,” I say. It comes out harsher than I meant it, but maybe that’s a good thing, since he’s basically breaking up with me right now.

“What I’m saying is…” I’m not looking at him yet, but I bet he’s tugging at his curls right now. “I like to look at you.”

My breath catches, and I lift my face to see him. Just like I thought, one of his hands is playing absentmindedly with his hair.

“I like this. All of what we’ve been doing.”

I can’t speak. I don’t know what I would say if I could.

“I like you. And I don’t even care if you don’t like me- I’m used to it, I wouldn’t know what to do if you did. But I like you, Baz. I like this. I like helping you. I like knowing that you’re okay. When you didn’t come back to school this autumn, when you were missing…” He finally takes a breath, thinking. “I thought I was going to lose my mind.”

“You thought I was plotting against you,” I remind him.

“Yeah. And I missed you.”

I can’t breathe. I don’t know how I manage to keep my voice stable when I say, “There’s something wrong with you-”

“I know,” he answers, grinning a little. “But I still want this, if you’ll let me have it.”

I lock eyes with him. He’s as sincere as ever. I pity him and envy him at the same time. “What’s this, Snow?” I ask.

“This. I want to be your boyfriend. Your terrible boyfriend.”

I raise my eyebrow, keeping my face relaxed and nonchalant like I’ve trained myself to do. Because I want to celebrate, but I can’t think. I can’t even comprehend that this is actually happening. I just need a minute to process, and then I’ll-

Someone knocks on the door.

_ Bad timing, mother _ , I think bitterly. Then I feel bad, even for thinking it. I stand up, trying to look nonchalant as I open the door. I grab the tray of food off the floor and the carry it back to the bed.

“Who’s that from?” Snow asks.

“My stepmother.”

“Why don’t you just eat at dinner?” He questions.

“I don’t like eating in front of people,” I say tersely.

“Why not?”

“Why do you ask so many questions?” I ask, trying not to sound irritated at him.

“Is it anorexia?”

“No, Snow, it’s not anorexia- do you even know what that means?” He doesn’t answer, his face still confused. I wish I could just ignore him, but instead I sigh, and explain, “My fangs pop when I eat. It’s noticeable.”

He scoots closer to me. My stomach drops. “I didn’t notice the other night, when you ate in front of me,” he tells me.

“Well, you’re not very observant, are you,” I say, despite how closely he’s observing me now.

“Or maybe it’s not as noticeable as you think,” he argues.

I would laugh, but it’s hard with my fangs in. Instead, I raise my head and flash him my teeth.

"Wicked,” he says just as I shut my mouth. He tries to come closer, but I push him away gently. I wish I wasn’t so nervous. We’ve only been living in the same room for eight years. “Open your mouth again. Let me see,” he says.

I try to look annoyed as I pull my mouth open a little again. “Where do they even come from?” He asks, leaning in. “Like, where do they go when you’re not using them?”

“I don’t know,” I answer, wishing I didn’t sound so weird.

“Can I touch them?” He asks. At first I think he’s joking, but he looks genuine, and his hand is already starting to reach up toward my face.

“No,” I say. I have to talk out of the corners of my mouth. It’s uncomfortable. “They’re sharp. And toxic.”

“I can’t believe there’s a part of your body that grows when you need,” he says. “You’re like a mutant.”

“I’m a vampire. And can you hear yourself?”

“Yeah,” he says, finally sitting back down.

I try  _ really, really  _ hard to look annoyed. But I’m not sure how well I’m pulling it off.

He passes me my plate. “Are you still hungry, Snow?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.

“I could eat.”

“Come on, then,” I coax him, handing him a fork. He takes it eagerly, moving closer again to eat off the plate.

His gaze drops to my mouth, staring at my fangs. “Wicked,” he says under his breath.

I shake my head a little, still trying not to grin. “You’re an idiot. But you can have… this. If you want it.”

He smiles.


End file.
